I Once Was Lost
by NicHarper
Summary: Bucky Barnes has been through a lot in his life - so much in fact, that he lost himself along the way. What happens when he meets someone who can help him find his way back? Post TWS, and due to MCU progression, now AU. Horrible summary.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hi all, **

**I don't why, but Bucky/Winter Soldier has become a bit of an addiction for me right now. So, in order to fill time between updates for Winter Soldier fics that I'm currently reading, I thought I'd give it a go. **

**I don't have a plan as such, I just really wanted to write something that focuses on Bucky's path to redemption – 'cause I think he seriously deserves it. **

**Just one other side note – I am Australian, and therefore have very limited knowledge about things like 'fire escapes', so if I'm completely off the mark – I apologise. **

**Anyways, I hope you guys like it!**

**Here goes nothing…**

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Her table was hideous.

At the time she'd, shall we say, "acquired" her kitchen table, she hadn't cared one bit what it looked like – only that it had four legs and could support the meagre meals she had been accustomed to back then.

But now, with her student-life days behind her, and a reasonable income to keep her going, Grace decided that it was probably time for an upgrade in the table department. Of course, she would never have noticed such an insignificant detail if it weren't for the man currently sitting opposite her at said table.

The dishevelled, rain-soaked man she'd located out on her fire escape was sitting across from her, staring down at his shoes, while _she_ had taken to staring at her table top – and as a result, coming to certain realisations about the questionable quality of the furniture in her apartment. They had been sitting like this for almost half an hour now. Neither of them saying a word. It if weren't so awkward, it probably would have been comical.

What the hell had she been thinking anyway?! Who in their right mind finds a random (not to mention, suspicious) character out on their fire escape, and invites them in to their home.

The answer: Grace Richards.

Thinking about it now, she was sure it was pity that had made her extend the invitation into her home. This guy… he just looked so… _lost_.

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**Earlier in the evening…**

"Yes, I'm eating fine… Mum… Mum! Do we really need to have this conversation _every_ time you call me?!"

Grace sighed internally, she had been on the phone with her mother for their compulsory weekly check-in (a tradition of her mother's invention), and yet again, they had landed back on the same conversation topics: Did she have a boyfriend yet? Was she eating right? Was she getting enough sleep? Was she sure she didn't want to come home?

In reality, her mum was just being a mum, and Grace could never blame her for wanting to make sure her daughter was doing okay, but admittedly, the constant line of questioning – not to mention nagging, could certainly be a test of Grace's patience.

Half listening to her mother, half watching the television on mute, she was startled from her reverie by a sudden thump outside her apartment. Jumping slightly at the sound, she got up from her old, musty couch and went over to investigate.

"Mum… yeah, sure – not a problem…" she muttered into the phone, not really paying attention to what she'd possibly just agreed to.

"Look mum, someone's at the door. I'll have to call you back." And with that, Grace hung up on her mother. Of course, she'd have to call her back later, and would consequently have to engage in a conversation that would be _twice_ as long as their typical "chats" to make up for the abrupt call termination, but that was a problem she was more than happy to deal with at a later time.

Having identified her fire escape as the most likely source of the sound, Grace began fiddling with the window latch. It was a stubborn thing, and more often than not, jammed when she attempted to open it. Hence why she had invested in a fire extinguisher – heaven forbid that this untrustworthy window be her only chance of survival in an actual fire!

Winning her battle with the window, she began squirming her way out onto the landing of the fire escape, toppling rather _ungracefully_ (no pun intended), onto the metal structure. Once she had recovered from her minor fall, Grace stood up and brushed herself off, being sure to do a quick visual sweep of her surroundings – if for no other reason than ensuring there had been no one to witness her embarrassing dismount.

Seeing no one, and not being able to identify the source of the mysterious thump, she heaved a heavy sigh and prepared herself for a repeat of the window exercise. That is, until she stumbled.

It was only a slight stumble, not even enough to make her fall over, merely a slight step taken off-balance, resulting in her backtracking a few paces – right into a very solid form she hadn't realised was standing behind her.

Whipping around, Grace found herself face to face – or rather face to shoulder, with a very foreboding figure. He was tall, had long-ish brown hair that was clearly filthy, and possibly most sinister of all, was wearing a trench coat. In pretty much every crime show she'd ever seen, the murderers wore trench coats. This was practically an omen.

After realising that she had just wasted several seconds making these observations, Grace snapped herself out of her trance-like state of staring open-mouthed at her intruder, and forced a high-pitched scream from her lungs.

She had barely gotten a scream out for even _one_ second before the stranger clamped a hand over her mouth. To her own embarrassment, it took her another few seconds to fully register her verbal restriction – but then, that was how shock worked, right?

She wasn't exactly sure how long they ended up standing there like that: the mystery man with his hand outstretched to cover her mouth while Grace stood facing him, her brow furrowed in confusion. Their stance was finally broken however, when she looked down at his hand – it too, was filthy.

Coming back to herself, she shoved his hand away, ensuring that the disgust showed on her face.

"Ugh, when was the last time you washed your hands?!"

In hindsight, maybe that was not the best thing she could've said – those would have been horrible last words.

The man said nothing, but made no attempt to flee either. He was difficult to describe – it was almost as though he was a shell: hard on the outside, but hollow within. There was no anger or fear about him – it was as though he had no emotions at all. That, in itself, probably should have made him terrifying. It didn't though – at least not to Grace.

Fully taking in his appearance now, she could see not only how dirty he was, but that he was also soaking wet – meaning he had probably been out in the pouring rain the city had experienced a few hours ago. Maybe that was it – the wet, ragged appearance coupled with the lost-boy vibe she got from him. Maybe that was why she didn't scramble back to her window…

"Um… Do I at least get to know what you're doing on my fire escape?"

He shrugged at her – well, at least that was something.

"Do you have a name?" She tried again.

Just a blank stare this time…

"…Or a place to go…?" She had now begun speaking at a slower pace, and probably a little bit louder than was necessary – almost as though she were attempting to communicate with someone who had limited control over the English language.

The blank stare continued. Maybe she was on to something with the language idea…

"Do you speak English?"

Still nothing…

"Do you communicate at _all_?!" She was getting kind of pissed now, and wasn't even attempting to keep the irritation from reaching her tone.

If you were to count blinking in someone's direction as a form of communication, then this mystery man was becoming quite the chatterbox; however, unfortunately for him, Grace did not accept this as an appropriate response.

"Seriously! Do you speak? … Or mime? At this point, I would even be willing to accept interpretive dance!"

To illustrate her point, she finished by waving her arms in the space between them. _This_, at least, earned her a cocked eyebrow.

"Aha!" She zoned in on the eyebrow movement. "You do understand!"

Still not saying a word, the man returned his eyebrow to its natural position, causing Grace to narrow her eyes at him.

Once again, they merely stood facing one another for several minutes – although this time, she was sure they were having some kind of unspoken staring competition. She probably would have stood there like that for hours in an attempt to beat him at his own game too, if it weren't for the sudden downpour of rain.

Letting out a small squeal of surprise, Grace abandoned their staring contest for her window, hurling herself through the tiny space. After achieving a slightly more coordinated landing this time, she turned around, only to see that her mystery man hadn't moved from his position – he _was_ watching her though.

Rolling her eyes, and making a mental note along the lines of "I just know I'm going to regret this…", Grace stuck her head out the window, and called to him.

"Are you coming inside, or what?"

She didn't wait to see if he would follow her, she merely walked to her kitchen and began attempting to put away the dishes she had washed earlier in the evening. It must have been several minutes later when she heard the sound of heavy footsteps climbing through her window.

Turning around to look at him, he still maintained his lost-puppy-dog look, seeming completely out of place in her modestly-sized apartment. She ignored him momentarily to finish her task, only to find him still standing there – not having moved in the slightest, when she turned back five minutes later.

Rolling her eyes yet again, she gestured towards the table.

"Did you want to sit down?"

And without saying a word, he walked to the table and sat.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Hi All, **

**As always, I have done my best to proof read - inevitably though, I will have missed something. **

**Hope it's okay...**

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He was never going back.

Of that, at least, he was sure. He might be fuzzy on details like who he was and what he had done in the past 70 years, but on this, he was resolute. He would never go back to HYDRA.

He had been running from them tonight. But then again, wasn't he always running from them?

They had almost caught up with him at the museum – despite the fact that he had taken every precaution. Clearly, HYDRA's abilities and resources ran far deeper than even _he_, their greatest asset, could fathom.

Tonight had been a particularly close call. He had been eating a late lunch in a non-descript diner; the food wasn't great, but it was really the anonymity of the place that drew him in. It was raining hard outside, and he had planned to stay in his booth for as long as possible.

As always, he had been sure to position himself appropriately; his internal checklist included: a full view of the door, some kind of screen or object that he could hide behind to remain obscure to those who wanted to look in through the windows, minimal security (AKA, a place that would let him keep his cap on), and of course, a nearby back exit.

It hadn't been enough though. It was starting to seem like nothing he would ever be able to do would be enough – they always managed to find him.

The second he saw the first HYDRA agent "casually" walk past the diner, completing what was, in his opinion, a poorly concealed scan of the building's interior, Bucky was out of his seat and out the back exit… to where they were already waiting for him. Although, considering it had been HYDRA who had taught him how to operate, it made sense that they would be able to anticipate his reactions.

In less than 5 minutes, he had disarmed all of his would-be attackers, and was headed straight for a place to lay low. That plan, however, didn't seem to last very long either. They found him once again only a few hours later. The rain had stopped and he was hiding out in a small, dumpster-filled alley. It wasn't his favourite location, but it was remote, offered several different escape routes, and was a good distance from the diner they had cornered him at before.

This time, he didn't have to disarm anyone. HYDRA agents might be good at tracking his movements, but they _certainly_ weren't good at getting the drop on him. He had heard them coming from a good 20 metres away – they probably hadn't thought that he was actually holing up in an alley, otherwise he was sure they would have approached with a lot more stealth.

Upon hearing the agents' shoes scuffing along the ground, the Winter Soldier was on his feet, and climbing the narrow ladder located on the wall behind him. He wasn't sure what kind of building it was – apartments, maybe? Either way, he didn't stop climbing until he was on the roof.

His small sigh of relief was short-lived though - the roof was not a safe place for him to "wait it out" and wouldn't be able to stay there for long. Taking in his surroundings, he scouted out the best plan of action, and within a minute he had jumped from the roof of the building he was on to the roof of the neighbouring one.

From this point on, he began his descent back to the ground – only this time, he was forced to use the fire escape located on the side of the new building; something he wasn't too happy about. A fire escape was much less discrete than the narrow ladder he had had on the previous building.

This building was most definitely made out of apartments, and he estimated that there were approximately 20 floors. It was on the 14th that he lost his footing.

The rungs on the ladder between floors had been quite slippery from the earlier rain, and before he could stop himself he dropped to the landing, falling heavily onto the metal grating.

He wasn't injured from the fall as such – he might have a few bruises later but that was nothing new for him. No, if anything, he was just tired. Tired from lack of food and sleep, and tired of running. So, _so_ tired of running.

And it was this fatigue _exactly_ that he blamed on his sluggish time to stand and recover; because in the time that it took him to pick himself up and check for non-existent injuries, the tenant in the apartment had made her way to the window and had started to open it.

She seemed to struggle with opening it, and it was a good thing too, otherwise he wouldn't have had the time he needed to conceal himself in the shadows on the side of the building. As long as she didn't do a full inspection of her fire escape landing, she would never even know he was there.

Things didn't exactly work out that way.

And _that_ was how he had ended up sitting at the kitchen table of the aforementioned tenant staring at his shoes.

He had no idea why he had accepted her invitation to come inside. Maybe it was the rain… after all, just because people called him "The Winter Soldier" didn't mean he didn't get cold. Or maybe it was the fact that this girl – whoever she was – didn't seem the least bit afraid of him.

Bucky was stirred from his musings suddenly when the girl abruptly stood from her seat, huffing a huge sigh (that most certainly did _not_ escape his notice) before walking off into another area of her apartment.

At the sound of random doors opening and closing, he realised that he had perhaps overstayed his "welcome" – if you could even call it that, and began mentally preparing himself for an exit out the fire escape window. He was debating whether or not he should leave without saying anything or if he should thank her for letting him in, however before he could do either, she returned to the kitchen table, her arms fully laden with fabrics.

Dumping the random items onto the table before him, she began sorting them into different piles.

"These" she held up what looked like a small pile of clothes, "are my brother's. He's one of those people with an annoying habit of dropping in whenever he feels like it, so I've gotten into the habit of always having some of his clothes on hand."

She pushed the small pile in his direction, "I'm not a great judge of sizing, but I think they should fit."

She continued on by placing what he was sure was a towel on top of the clothing pile. "Take the clothes, and this…" she gestured to the towel, "The bathroom is just down the hall to the right. Go in there and take a shower. God knows you need it…" with the last part being muttered hastily under her breath.

"There's soap and everything in there. _Please_ do _not_ use soap on your hair, use my shampoo and conditioner – seriously, nobody will care if your hair smells like a girl's."

Judging by the tone of the shampoo and conditioner comment, he guessed that it was probably an argument she had had a few times before. Little did she realise that he didn't care in the slightest if his hair "smelled like a girl's", he would easily settle for just smelling clean.

"So," she went on, "While you're in the shower, I'll make up the bed in the spare room. It's right next to the bathroom, so you can go straight there after you're finished cleaning up, okay?"

She looked at him now, apparently waiting for some kind of response.

He had none.

He had no idea why she was doing this for him. Did she not realise that he could kill her in less than 5 seconds? And that he wouldn't even have to get up from his chair to do it?!

Seeing the expectant look on the girl's face, Bucky offered her a small nod before rising from the table, gathering the clothes and towel in his arms as he went. Whoever this girl was, she was astounding. Not only did she not fear him in the slightest, but she would go so far as to offer him shelter, clothing, _and_ a bed. He couldn't even remember the last time he had been permitted to sleep on a bed. The best he was normally allowed was a cot. No mattress included.

Were people still like that? Did they still just go around offering kindness to others? HYDRA didn't. His memory might not be 100% reliable, but he couldn't recall a single thing that he had ever done for HYDRA being an act of _kindness_. Pierce had always told him that when he took care of his targets for HYDRA that he was helping mankind. Somehow, it never really felt that way.

And so it was, during these muddled thoughts on his way to the bathroom, that he realised – he didn't know if he would stay here, or if he would find somewhere else, but with absolute certainty he knew this:

He was _never_ going back to HYDRA.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Hi All, **

**I actually have no idea if anyone is actually enjoying this story, but I'm on a role and have a small window of time that I can allocate towards writing, so I guess I'll stick with it. **

**Also, I know that I haven't described what Grace looks like yet - I'm actually really bad at stuff like that, hence why I find fanfiction relaxing (cause normally everybody already knows what the characters are supposed to look like). **

**Anyway, I'll give a description of her appearance in the next chapter I think - from Bucky's perspective. **

**In the mean time, I hope you enjoy. **

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_I don't mind you staying here, but I really need you to tell me who you are… _

For what was probably the 50th time that morning, Grace repeated that sentence to herself in her head. She hadn't seen the mystery man since the night before when he had marched off to the bathroom after she had practically ordered him to take a shower. And now, with the clock drawing closer and closer to 8am, she was sure he would be emerging from the spare bedroom soon.

She needed to be ready when he did.

Absent-mindedly preparing a hot breakfast for herself and her guest, she continued to repeat the sentence to herself. If there was one thing she had managed to gauge about this guy, it was that he definitely _wasn't_ a sharer – in fact, he had yet to utter a single word to her. Which was exactly why she needed to be firm and direct with him when the time came; she didn't mind him staying with her (for now), but if he _was_ planning on sticking around, then she needed to have at least some idea of who he was.

In all honesty, she had been up most of the night contemplating what she was going to do with him.

She still wasn't entirely sure why she had invited him in to begin with, but she certainly didn't regret doing it – not yet, anyway. This guy – whoever he was – needed help. He may not have said a word he her, but there were some things that didn't need saying.

Like the fact that he clearly hadn't showered or shaved in days, hell, maybe even weeks! Judging from the bags under his eyes, he was completely exhausted, and she'd bet all she had that he was dealing with a fair bit of trauma as well; after all, it wasn't exactly _normal_ to be so eerily silent.

And to top it all off, Grace was also 100% convinced that he didn't have anywhere else to go.

She hadn't decided how long she was willing to let him stay with her just yet, but she knew she had the power to help him, even if it was only in the tiniest of ways. And that was exactly what she was going to do – if he actually let her, that is.

She was pushing down the toaster when she heard the door open. This was it. Game time.

She heard his footsteps approaching the kitchen.

_Come on, Grace!_ She internally chided, _you can do this…._

Knowing she would probably lose her nerve if she didn't get it out now, she didn't even bother to turn around before she started speaking. She just blurted out the words she'd been rehearsing all morning.

"I don't mind you staying here, but I really need you to tell me-" she whipped around to face him, "Oh my God, you're a robot!"

He had a metal arm. Not like a prosthetic arm, but an _actual_ arm made out of metal. The left one.

How had she not noticed that?

…The trench coat.

It was that _goddamn_ trench coat! She was an idiot, she'd practically broken rule number one of every television crime show ever: never trust a trench coat!

And now, as he stood before her, wearing a pair of her brother's sweatpants and an old t-shirt, she had an almost unobscured view of the metallic appendage.

She must have stood there staring with her mouth open for close to two minutes – the metal man still saying nothing, of course. So, when she finally regained the ability to talk, she couldn't help but blurt out the first thing that came to mind.

"Is this the part where you kill me?"

The room was silent then for several more minutes… until he spoke.

"You're afraid."

It wasn't a question, it was a statement. One that sounded rather disappointed. Or maybe she was just imagining the disappointment, maybe she imagining that he had said anything at all…

"Did you… did you just say something?"

"You're afraid." He repeated. A little louder this time, and with definite disappointment. Although she didn't exactly understand why.

"No…", she replied, shaking her head slightly, "I think I'm just… surprised. Firstly because you have a… a… well _that_-", she gestured to his left arm, "and secondly because you actually just said something to me. I wasn't sure you were ever going to…"

"So, you're not afraid?" His tone more questioning this time.

She chuckled slightly to herself before answering, "It would definitely make more sense if I was, wouldn't it?"

He didn't say anything this time, but she wasn't about the let her opportunity pass her by. Since seeing his metal arm several minutes ago something had been tugging at her mind, and now, when she coupled the arm with the long hair and seemingly-fugitive status…

"I think I saw you."

He met her eyes again, confusion marring his features. He remained silent however, so she continued.

"You were on the news. A few weeks ago. There were all those attacks on Captain America, and those… _things_ falling from the sky. I saw you, didn't I?"

He still refused to say anything, but this time, she wasn't going settle for silence.

"Look, I'm sorry, I know this is probably hard for you," her tone changed from soft and inquisitive to one that was more firm. It wasn't a tone she used very often, but she found it was good to have for special occasions. Like right now.

"…But if you're going to stay here, even if it's just for a little while, then I _need_ to know if you're the man I saw on the news."

After several seconds, he nodded.

"Okay," she continued, still adopting her assertive tone. "Are you going to kill me?"

Her voice was steady as she posed the question, and she didn't hesitate to meet his eyes. She had meant it when she said she wasn't afraid of him. Even though she knew that she probably should be – especially now.

"No." He surprised her; she hadn't expected him to offer a verbal response after he had reverted back to silence again so soon. "I won't hurt you."

"Good to know." She replied, her voice instantly becoming light and happy once more. "Now, breakfast is pretty much ready, so take seat at the table and I'll be with you in a minute."

She didn't bother to watch him as she walked to the table, she merely turned back to the toast that had just popped up and began buttering it.

Several minutes later she approached the kitchen table, a full plate in each hand. She deftly placed one down in front of him before sitting down opposite him and starting on her own meal. She didn't miss the look of confusion on the metal man's features either, but it wasn't long before he seemed to put his worries aside in favour of food.

It was around the time that he had cleaned his plate and she was half way through hers that she broke the silence, "You must have been hungry, 'cause I know for a fact that my cooking's not _that_ good…"

He said nothing, causing her to roll her eyes. "Okay, I understand if you're not a chatterbox-type of person, but I think it would be good if you started introducing more verbal responses into these little chats." She used her hand to gesture between the two of them. "At the very least, it would make me feel less like I'm a crazy person who's taken to talking to herself…"

He stayed silent for a few minutes after that, and it was right at the point that she had convinced herself he wasn't going to respond that he finally spoke up.

"I don't know what I'm supposed to say." He didn't meet her eyes as she said it, almost as though he was embarrassed, or perhaps ashamed.

Even though his gaze was still focused on his empty plate, she was sure he would be able to hear the smile in her voice.

"You're supposed to say what you think…" she offered gently.

He looked up at her now, his eyes taking on a haunted look. "In my experience, saying what's on your mind only ever brings you pain."

Her breath caught in her throat at that and her heart went out to him. She had no idea what he had been through, or what side he stood on… it didn't matter though.

Nobody deserved that.

Not really knowing what she _could_ say, she settled for something simple.

"Not here. I don't know what happened to you in other places, but as long as you're here, you're free to think, and feel, and say whatever you want."

After several more moments of silence, he answered, "I'll try, but I don't think I can promise anything."

"I think I can live with that." She smiled at him. And with that, she stood and began clearing their plates.

"Now, there's just one more thing I need to know for right now," she called from her position at the sink. "And that is what I should call you…"

She finished rinsing the dishes, turning to face him just in time to see him shrug. She promptly frowned at him.

"I don't know," he answered. "People call me lots of different things…"

"Like what?" she prompted.

"Asset… Soldier… 17 sometimes."

"17? As in, the _number_ 17?"

He nodded.

Grace let out a quick snort before responding, "Yeah, I'm _not_ going to call you that."

"Why?" He asked, confused.

"Because." She stated. "You're a _human being_, and human beings have names… not _numbers_ for God's sake. Do you have a name?"

He shrugged again, "Yeah, but… It doesn't really _feel_ like it's my name anymore."

"Okay, what was it? Your name?"

He shook his head slightly, "I used to get called 'Bucky', but… I don't know. I don't feel like I know who that is."

"Bucky?" she echoed. She knew that one. She'd had to hear it about a million times during her high school history classes – Captain America and his Howling Commandos were legendary after all…

He nodded again.

She sighed, leaning her hip against the kitchen counter and crossing her arms over her chest. "Let me guess, they called you 'Bucky', but your full name is something along the lines of 'James Buchanan Barnes'?"

"I'm guessing you've been to the museum too?"

She laughed, "Something like that." She could feel a headache coming on; this was a lot more information than she had been ready for this morning. Moving back to her seat at the table, she continued.

"Okay, so you don't want me to call you 'Bucky', does that mean 'James' is okay?"

"I read that I hated being called that…"

"Do you though? …Hate being called 'James'?"

"I don't think so…" he replied after several seconds. "At least not right now."

"Good. It's settled then." She announced happily, "James it is. At least for now."

He nodded slowly, as though coming to terms with the name.

"What about you?" he questioned

"What about me?"

"What should _I_ call _you_?"

"Oh. Right, of course." She smiled at him pleasantly before holding out her hand across the table for him to shake. Hesitantly he extended his own hand – the flesh one – and gave hers a half-hearted shake.

"I'm Grace."


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Hi All, **

**Weekend is nearly over, so this might be the last chapter for a few days. **

**I hope you're enjoying it – I still have absolutely no plan for where this story is going, I'm just doing my best not to rush through the foundation stuff. **

**Until next time….**

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He wasn't sleeping.

It was his second night in Grace's apartment, and he still couldn't sleep. The night before he had reasoned that it was simply because he needed to be alert if HYDRA found him, but he had been safe from them for almost a full 24 hours now, and he still couldn't sleep… or perhaps, wouldn't.

It did not escape his notice that he was unable to differentiate between the two.

So, instead, he pottered. He had already spent most of the day in his room, and had found that there were a number of things he could occupy himself with: he could surveil the surrounding area via the small window, he could alternate between push-ups and sit ups in the ample floor space, he could sit on the bed and try and remember things… anything really.

At the current time, he was sitting on the bed trying to decide whether he was awake because of the threat HYDRA still posed to him, or if it was maybe more do with the threat of dreaming.

Ever since the helicarrier, ever since he had saved his target's life – the one everyone called 'Captain America', he had been plagued with dreams… or were they memories?

He wasn't sure. In all honesty, he could never really remember them afterwards. All he knew was that he would wake up in a panic, completely covered in sweat, only being able to recall tiny remnants of the dream; like the ghost of a shadow or the echo of someone's voice.

HYDRA had clearly known what they were doing when they wiped him.

He estimated that it must have been around 2 in the morning by now, and he was just about to do another visual sweep from the window when he heard movement throughout the apartment.

Instantly he was on high-alert. The sounds hadn't come from Grace's room, meaning there was every chance HYDRA had come for him.

Grabbing the gun that he had concealed under the bed, he prepared himself for a fight. With any luck, he would be able to get away and Grace would remain unharmed.

Exiting the room, the crept down the hallway in complete silence, drawing ever closer to the source of the sounds. He was at the edge of the hall now, the living room was right around the corner. For whatever reason, it seemed that he had gotten lucky – he was sure there couldn't be more than one intruder. This would be piece of cake.

Without another second to lose, the Winter Soldier burst into the living room bringing his gun up as he went… only to realise that it was now pointed directly at Grace.

She had her back turned to him, and it seemed to take her about half a second to realise he was holding her at gunpoint. When she _did_ finally realise, she let out a short scream followed by a very low, drawn-out "Jesus!"

At that he lowered the gun, putting the safety back on before tucking the weapon into the band of his pants; an apologetic look on his face. Grace, on the other hand, merely stood there, her right hand positioned on her chest while her eyes shot daggers at him.

"_What_ are you doing?" she practically hissed at him. "You almost gave me a heart attack!"

"Sorry", he mumbled. "I… uh. I heard… noises. I thought someone had broken in."

Seeming to calm down slightly, she sent him a wry look, "Is it sad that I'm not even surprised by the fact that you have a gun?"

Not knowing what to say to that, he changed the subject in attempt to ease the tension out of the room. "So… what exactly are _you_ doing?"

A knowing look crossed her face, but she allowed the subject change anyway.

"I'm making centrepieces" she offered, her hand gesturing to the kitchen table where they were several small, constructed piles of flowers and other things he couldn't quite name.

"Centrepieces?" He felt the word tugging at his mind, but he couldn't quite place it.

"Yeah, you know, when you go to a fancy dinner or ball there's always a decoration in the middle of the table… centrepieces."

"Right…"

She laughed slightly at the confusion in his tone. "I'm supposed to have a final design completed by Monday, and I couldn't sleep, so I figured why not…"

"So… when I heard those sounds…"

"You heard me rummaging through my craft boxes" She finished for him, gesturing to the living room floor where several clear plastic containers sat – brimming with materials that, from what he could see, were only good for sparkling.

"Is that what you do then?" he continued, somewhat unsure of himself. "...Make centrepieces?"

"Sort of." She shrugged, moving back to the kitchen table – sparkling materials in hand. "I'm an event planner; and for a while I was just doing normal things – you know, weddings, 21st birthday parties, that kind of stuff. But I've been working for this charity organisation for about a year now, so now I get to plan and run fundraising events."

"Right now, for example, I'm trying to organise a gala event… which is exactly why I'm making centrepieces." She finished, her focus returning to the craft on the table in front of her. Almost as an afterthought, she added "You can sit down, you know."

He did. And for the next 10 minutes or so he simply watched her. The first thing he studied was her hands as they affixed new pieces to the decorations she was constructing; they were long and nimble, and clearly practiced when it came to centrepiece-making. She was average height, he supposed. She wasn't short, but she was certainly shorter than him. She had a lean build; she wasn't what you would describe as 'skinny' – her hips were too broad, and she was more curved than angular.

She was in good shape though, that much he could tell. She might have looked as though she had soft curves, but he was sure that she was made up of muscle; the quick glimpse of her flat, toned stomach he had caught as she made breakfast this morning had only confirmed as much.

Her face… it was hard to say really. Yet again the word 'soft' came to mind. She had an oval shaped face but the lack of defined cheekbones gave her a more gentle appearance.

Her hair was a far more confusing affair – it was brown, sort of. He had noticed this morning that her brown hair had a habit of glittering golden-like in the sunlight, even though he couldn't see any traces of blonde; and now, as they sat in the dim light of the kitchen, it looked to be a distinctly chestnut colour. He knew better though.

She wore her hair up while she worked, he noted. She had when she cooked as well. Perhaps it was to keep it out of her way… after all, his chin-length hair had a habit of getting in his eyes, he could only imagine how much more of an inconvenience it would be if it reached his shoulder blades the way hers did.

She had green eyes. They shone as well. _Especially_ when she smiled. He'd seen that several times now – when she smiled, she just lit up.

It was as he was making these observations that he realised he wasn't sure if she was beautiful or not.

He couldn't remember what the rules were anymore. For as long as he could recall he was only permitted to see black and white; when they had given him a target to take out, it was only ever name, age, and location. Never good-looking or unattractive.

"So, I guess you couldn't sleep either then?"

"What?" He asked. He hadn't been listening, he was too caught up in this thoughts.

"You were awake, like me. Was it because you couldn't sleep?"

"Ah… yeah. I guess." He shrugged.

"Is it because you're afraid they'll find you?"

His heart sped up slightly, "What makes you think I'm hiding from someone?"

She gave him a look that said 'puh-lease', before replying with "Are you telling me that you're not?"

He wasn't sure that he was ready to give her the truthful answer to that question, and so decided he would side-step the issue. For now. "I don't know why I can't sleep."

"Well, I'd offer you some sleeping pills, but I have a feeling you would only say 'no'… Am I right?"

He nodded. She sighed, and promptly dropped the issue.

It was few minutes later when she spoke again, "Hey, can I ask you something? …You don't have to answer if you don't want to."

"Okay" he shrugged.

"Why did you spend all day in your room? …I mean, don't get me wrong, it's fine if that's where you'd rather be, but… I don't know. Every time you left the table after breakfast, lunch, and dinner today you went straight for your room… almost as though you felt like that's what you were _supposed_ to do."

He didn't say anything for a _very_ long time. She was certain that she had just offended him, and was mentally kicking herself. She was building up to an apology when he very quietly said, "It was".

"Sorry?"

He cleared his throat slightly, "It was. When I wasn't _required_, my designated area was my room."

She could feel tears burning the corner of her eyes, and mentally forced them away. She didn't think he would appreciate her crying over him.

After several more minutes, she spoke up again. "Um… well, it's not like that here. The spare room – it's not your _cell_." She practically spat the word. "You're free here. I promise."

Slowly he nodded, and they returned to a comfortable silence. They stayed that way for quite a while. Both of them seated at the kitchen table while she fiddled with her centrepieces and he sat studying her.

And it was during this time that he realised something. He might not know what the rules about beauty were anymore, or what people did and didn't like, but he was certain now that Grace _was_ beautiful.

Because if nothing else, she was beautiful to _him_.


	5. Chapter 5

**-REPOSTED-**

**A/N: Hi all, **

**I feel this is more a filler chapter, but I also see it as a bit of spring-board. **

**Obviously, Bucky and Grace have a long road ahead of them and I'm not going to write it day by day, therefore, quite soon I think I'll be able to write chapters that focus on significant milestones in their developing friendship.**

**Oh, and thank you to all of you who reviewed. It's always great to hear what others think of your writing. :)**

**Anyway, I hope this is okay…**

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_Finally_, she thought to herself.

Smiling down at the figure sleeping on her couch, she perched herself on her coffee table to put on her runners. Glancing over at him briefly as she tied her laces, she tried to figure out how long he had been asleep for. 'Not long enough' was the only answer she could come up with.

Despite having almost soiled herself the night before when he ambushed her in the living room, she found that she actually didn't mind the company. Of course, it wasn't as if they had engaged in any deep and meaningful conversations; in fact, for all the talking they had done, she may as well have been by herself. It had been good though.

Sure, he wasn't a great conversationalist, but he was easy to be around. Grace liked that.

She had returned to her bed this morning after only two hours of impromptu craft-making, while he, she noted, had stayed up. On the plus side, at least he hadn't locked himself in the spare room again.

It was obvious that he had been through something – how could it not be? He was 98 year old with a 27 year old face for God's sake! But still, in the small moments when he would reveal pieces of himself, she became more and more horrified at what he had been turned into.

She wouldn't call herself an expert but she did happen to know a few things about Bucky Barnes, and the man currently staying in her apartment was nothing like him – save for the face, of course.

She wasn't sure exactly how she was going to do it yet, but one way or another she was going to bring him back to himself. Bucky Barnes had been a hero. He had saved hundreds of lives whilst risking his own. He deserved better.

Putting her thoughts aside for now, she looked towards the door.

Going for an afternoon run was something she often did on Sundays, and she was determined that today would be no exception; however, she was absolutely certain that leaving via the door was going to wake up her house guest, and who knew when he would sleep again…

Turning away from the door, she silently headed for the fire escape window. She knew that she and the window had had their differences over the years but she kept her fingers crossed that perhaps, just on this one occasion, they might be able to form a truce.

Being as quiet as possible she found that luck was on her side as the window slid up soundlessly – it still wasn't a smooth opening, but noise was the only thing she cared about right now. She was just about to start climbing through when she realised her mistake. After all, he was bound to wake up eventually.

Heading over to her kitchen counter, she scrawled a quick note on some paper before placing it on the coffee table. At least this way he would know where she'd gone if he happened to wake up before she returned.

And with that, she strode back to window, putting all of her effort into _not_ toppling out onto the landing (like she had last time), before heading down the stairs to the street.

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He had fallen.

Or maybe he had jumped? He couldn't tell.

His heart raced as he plummeted towards the water, the icy wind cutting right through him. He tried to scream but any noise he made was lost to the sound of the air rushing past him on his descent.

He hit the water and instantly lurched awake.

His heart was pounding in his chest as he looked around, desperately trying to place his location.

Couch, window, kitchen table. Grace. He was in Grace's apartment.

Forcing himself to calm down he focused on other things, anything to separate himself from his nightmare.

That was when he noticed. He was in Grace's apartment, but as far as he could tell, there was no Grace.

He couldn't see her, and he couldn't hear her. He did, however, briefly note that the fire escape window was open.

"Grace?" he called out, his voice still raspy from sleep.

No answer.

He wouldn't say that her absence worried him as much as it unsettled him. He had felt comfortable in Grace's apartment since she'd let him in two nights ago, however he couldn't help but now wonder if it was _Grace_ that put him at ease rather than the apartment itself.

Looking around once more (if for nothing other than some kind of explanation), he spotted the lose piece of paper lying on the coffee table – _that_ hadn't been there before he'd fallen asleep. He was sure of it.

Picking it up, his suspicions were confirmed as he read the small note she had left for him:

_Went for a run - didn't want to wake you. _

_I'll be back around 4. _

_Sweet dreams! _

He chuckled slightly. Sweet dreams indeed.

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Her truce with the window was over.

That much had become abundantly clear as she attempted, for the third time now, to swing her leg up into the opening. Other people might blame her fatigue – she _had_ pushed herself pretty hard after all, but Grace couldn't help but feel that it was some kind of revenge plot.

…Or maybe she was just going crazy.

Trying (and failing) yet again, she huffed in frustration before admitting (temporary) defeat, bending to sit down on the hard grating of the fire escape landing.

"Should I even ask?"

She started suddenly at the unexpected question, narrowing her eyes at the man now leaning out her window.

"You know, I am about one heart palpitation away from getting you a cat bell!" she shot back at him.

He ignored her jab, though she didn't miss the hint of smirk that crossed his face.

"I take it your run went well then?"

"My run is not the problem, it's the fact that my own window has a vendetta against me."

"I thought I was the one who was crazy…" he muttered under his breath.

"I heard that!"

There it was again… the _tiniest_ hint of a smirk. It was good look on him.

"So, are you planning to stay down there all day then?" he questioned, crossing his arms over his chest… Wait, was he mocking her? What?

"I don't know…" she responded slowly. "I haven't decided yet."

"Do you maybe want a hand?"

Grace wasn't great at accepting help, meaning there was no way in hell she was going to be able to respond with a 'yes please' – the cost to her pride would be too high.

So, instead, she sighed an overly-dramatic sigh (playing up the drama-queen angle _big_ time), before answering with, "I suppose so. If you're offering, that is?"

He didn't bother saying anything, merely extended his right hand out the window in her direction.

His hand was warm and strong as he pulled her to her feet.

Then came the interesting part.

Positioning her so that her side was to the open window, he used his grip on her hand to deftly place her arm around his neck before moving his own hand down to her waist on the opposite side.

"Ready?"

She nodded slowly, somewhat taken aback by their new proximity. She hadn't really stopped to think about it before, but when her face was only inches from his, it was hard not to realise how attractive he was. Even with the light, scruffy beard and the messy hair.

Before she could think too much more about it, he lifted her up and through the window, stepping away from her after he had gently placed her down on the floor.

"You should use the door next time."

"I… I didn't want to wake you" she stumbled slightly, still recovering from being swept off her feet – literally.

"Thanks, but no amount of sleep is worth watching you try and climb through that window again…"

Wow. Okay. He _was_ mocking her. And this time, she couldn't resist saying something.

"Look at you… give the man a nap and he's a comedian." She replied, her tone light and teasing.

He offered her _half_ a smile in return. She decided that it was a good start.

"So," she continued. "While I was running, I was thinking…" she trailed off slightly, moving towards her bookshelf

"Hmm?" he prompted, following her movements with his eyes as she plucked a book from the top shelf before turning back to him.

"…And I think you should read this." She finished, holding the book out to him.

"'_Shaping the 21__st__ Century'_?" he read the title aloud. A questioning tone in his voice.

"Yeah. Granted I'm not really sure what you've been up to for the last 70 years, but I thought a bit of a catch-up session might be a good place to start…"

"Start?" he echoed. "Start what?"

"You don't have to read it if you don't want to…" she dodged the question. If she told him she was trying to turn him back into… well, _himself_, he might not take it too well. It was just a feeling she had.

He studied the book for several minutes, turning it over in his hands as he went.

"Okay." He finally answered, still sounding somewhat unsure. "I'll give it a try…"

She smiled at him. "Great." She responded. "I'll start dinner."


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Hi all, **

**Welcome to chapter 6. Sorry about the coding issue with chapter 5 – I have no idea what happened there. **

**Anyway, thanks again for the reviews; they mean a lot!**

**Enjoy. **

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_…Til the end of the line- _

He jumped awake, the words echoing in his mind as the memory of his dream quickly faded. However, he didn't need to remember his dream to know who had said the words. It was him. Captain America.

Bucky still had trouble thinking of him in any other way – to everyone else they were best friends, but for him, his basic instincts remained intact. For him, the man had been his target.

Pushing the words from his mind he turned his thoughts towards the new day… which somehow was even worse.

He was leaving today.

How could he not?

He had spent 3 nights in Grace's apartment now, Hydra was bound to catch up with him soon enough. His only option was to keep running: both for his sake _and_ for that of his Samaritan. And yet, the knowledge that he was never coming back seemed to make his heart feel heavy… Wait? His heart?

No. That wasn't right. He was highly-trained assassin – he used his head, not his _heart_.

Standing up from the bed, he headed to the small wardrobe where his clothes were. _His_ clothes, not the borrowed ones he had spent the weekend living in. He had showered the night before, and had even managed to wash his hair again – all in all, he could probably get by for the next couple of weeks without showering.

Beginning to plan out his next move, he reached into the wardrobe to begin dressing – and instantly froze.

It was the clothes.

Almost hesitantly he picked them up to study them, even bringing them to his face so he could smell them…

She had washed them.

He couldn't even think of when she would have done it. But he knew that his previously filthy clothes were now clean, and that there was only one explanation for it: she had washed his clothes for him.

Dammit.

Leaving today was already going to be hard enough… and then she just goes and makes it even harder.

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_Measuring tape, measuring tape…_

She had started at the top drawer looking for the damn thing, and was now down to the third. She was just on the verge of trying the fourth when her fingers finally brushed over the object she needed.

Pulling it out, she slammed the draw shut before heading back to the counter. She needed to hurry up or she would be late for work. All the more reason to get this out of the way now.

"James…" she called.

Oddly, she hadn't seen him yet this morning. Granted she only had 2 other mornings to compare it to, but for those last few he'd been up almost immediately after she was. In fact, it wouldn't have surprised her if it turned out that he sat _awake_ in the spare bedroom, just waiting for her to get up.

Quickly rinsing her dishes in the sink, she contemplated calling his name for a second time when she heard his bedroom door open.

"Morning" she called to him, still busying herself at the sink. "Sorry if you were busy, but I need to get something from you before I head off."

Turning around, she grabbed the tape and a notepad from the kitchen counter before moving in his direction. "Okay, so I know my brother's clothes are almost a good fit but…" she trailed off for a moment, confusion marring her features. "You're dressed? …I mean, _of course_ you're dressed. But, those are… you're wearing the clothes from the other night…"

Not really knowing where she was going, she let her sentence fade out, the confused expression still clear on her face.

After a few seconds he cleared his throat. "Um… I don't know how I can ever really thank you for what you've done, but-"

"Thank me?" She echoed, cutting him off mid-sentence. "Why would you need to thank me?"

"I… um… well, I'm leaving." He replied hesitantly.

Not really thinking before she spoke, Grace blurted out the first thing that came to her.

"Why?"

"Because… you were right. There _are_ people who are looking for me, and the best way for me to get away from them is to keep going. If I stay here, they'll find me. And you."

"But…" she wasn't really sure _why_ she was arguing or what argument she was going to use. All she could think was that he couldn't leave. He just couldn't.

"You've been here for 3 nights now and no one has come looking for you. _No one_. Did you ever think maybe it's because you're safe here?"

"I think it's more to do with luck." He offered gently.

"Is that really what you want?" she asked, a hint of desperation entering her voice. "Do you really want to _run_ for the rest of your life?!"

"What else is there?" He shrugged.

And suddenly, she was pissed off.

She couldn't decide whether it was because he had the audacity to suggest leaving without consulting her first or because he had adopted such a defeatist attitude. Either way, she didn't hold back.

"Living!" she practically snapped at him. "You could _live_, James. You don't have to run forever. You could do something with your life, _be_ someone you want to be!"

"It's not that simple" he shot back, frustration quickly becoming evident in his own tone.

"_Yes_, it is! It is _exactly_ that simple. Is it easy? No - it's not. In fact, it's _excruciatingly_ hard. But you do it anyway. Because that's what life _is_. For God's sake! Hasn't anyone ever told you that the things most worth doing in life are usually the most difficult?!" She paused briefly for air before continuing.

"But you know what, if you would rather waste your opportunities, _waste_ your second chance at a life because you're scared or you think it's too hard, then just get out."

She was breathing heavily now. And with every second the silence stretched out between them, the more embarrassed she became. She really hadn't meant to get so worked up.

She couldn't be sure how long they stood there, but it _felt_ like an eternity. And what was worse is that she had no idea what he was thinking. Did he hate her now?

Eventually it got to the point where she couldn't take it any longer, and very softly uttered, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. But, seriously. Cards on the table. Are you leaving because you want to, or because you feel you're _supposed_ to?"

"Staying would be a risk." He answered, his voice equally quiet.

"That's not what I asked…"

He opened his mouth several times in attempt to answer, only to close it each time, still having said nothing.

She chuckled slightly before putting him out of his misery. "Okay. So, you say that staying is a risk. Is it a smaller or bigger risk than going back out there?"

He shrugged.

"Don't do that." She chided. "I thought we'd finally gotten rid of the non-verbal responses…"

"Statistically," he began, ignoring her comment about his shrugging. "The risk is equal. But only for the time being."

"Well, why don't you stay here – for the time being – and then, I will _help_ you find somewhere else to go when this place becomes too risky…"

It took a long time, but he eventually, very reluctantly, nodded.

Instantly she let out a breath she didn't know she had been holding.

She began smiling before a thought suddenly occurred to her.

"Promise you won't leave the moment I walk out that door! Promise me you will be here when I get back this afternoon!"

"Fine" he agreed after a few seconds, his mouth forming a thin line.

"No, "she insisted. "Promise."

"Ugh. I _promise_" he replied, rolling his eyes at her for good measure.

"Good." Her smile was back in place now, her mood instantly lifted. "Now, come here so I can get your measurements…"

"Why do you need my measurements?" he asked, refusing to approach her.

"Because" she huffed, striding towards him with the measuring tape and notepad in hand. "Regardless of where you are or where you're going, you _need_ clothes. My brother's were okay on you, but you should really have clothes that fit."

"These clothes fit." He protested as she gestured at him to raise his arms so she could begin measuring.

"Let me rephrase: you need _more_ clothes that fit. Now hurry up or I'll be late for work."

It was a few more seconds before he finally admitted defeat and lifted his arms as instructed – but not before rolling his eyes at her again first.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Hi all, **

**Here is the latest chapter. Common sense tells me that I probably should've read it through a few more times for corrections, but I was too eager to post it, so I apologise for spelling and grammar mistakes. **

**Also, once again, thanks for the reviews – you guys are so kind!**

**Anyways, I hope you like it.**

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He was bored.

So, _so_ bored.

As it turned out, when you didn't spend your days running and hiding from HYDRA, the day became pretty empty.

He had already occupied himself with all his usual activities: his routine window surveillance, some reading, and a hefty workout routine – the bulk of which had been achieved by improvising actual weights with various pieces of Grace's furniture…

And now, he had nothing. Especially since he had finished the book she had given him.

Despite his original reticence, he actually found himself enjoying the history lesson. If nothing else, he enjoyed the power the new knowledge gave him. HYDRA had kept him in the dark – he was only permitted to know and think the things that _they_ set down for him. For as long as he could remember, the only version of truth he'd had was what they had told him.

And as it turned out, HYDRA's version of truth was nothing but lies.

Knowing new things, knowing _facts_ – it strengthened him somehow, made him feel more in control.

Glancing at the clock, he let out a sigh. Grace was late. She'd told him that she would be back by 4:30 – and yet, here it was: 4:35 – and still no Grace.

He'd had his suspicions when she went for her run the day before, but now he was certain. He wasn't a big fan of Grace's apartment. It was _her_ that made it liveable. He wasn't sure if it was because being along in an enclosed space reminded him too much of his designated _area_ at HYDRA, or whether it was just because being alone in her apartment got really boring, really quickly. Either way, Grace needed to come home. Soon.

It was another 10 minutes before the door opened and Grace stumbled into the apartment, arms laden with shopping.

Immediately he was up and taking the items from her. She smiled at him graciously before opening her mouth to say something. He stopped her before she could.

"You're late"

She laughed slightly, and he frowned at her as he awkwardly stood holding her shopping.

"15 minutes _barely_ qualifies as late" she replied easily, leading him to the kitchen. "Just dump those there…" she added, gesturing to the table.

He wanted to tell her that 15 minutes _was_ indeed classified as late, but she continued talking before he could press the issue.

"So, what did you do all day?" she asked as she began sorting through her purchases.

He shrugged before answering, "Not much. I finished that book you gave me. Other than that, there's not really much to do." He decided he'd leave out the details about his exercise routine on the off chance she took issue with him using her coffee table as a tool for weights.

"You finished the book? That's great! Did you like it?"

"It was okay."

He gave him a sly look before continuing, "You finished that book in less than 24 hours and it was only _okay_?"

"Fine. I liked it. But it's not like there was much else to do…"

"Was there nothing on TV?" she asked, confused.

"I didn't think you'd want me to touch your TV, so I left it alone."

For the first time since he'd met her, he saw Grace raise one eyebrow at him. And somehow, it managed to be endearing.

"…And why exactly would I not want you to touch my TV?" she enquired, seemingly amused.

He shrugged at her, causing her to roll her eyes at him.

"Well, for future reference," she continued. "I have no problem with you watching my TV. In fact, I would encourage you to."

"Why?"

"Because," she started simply, "It'd be a good chance for you to learn more about… well, everything. You could watch the news, the history channel, anything. Who knows, you might even like it _more_ than books."

"Well, that wouldn't surprise me, I was never really into books that much – even when I was a kid."

He froze, while Grace merely turned to look at him – a look of surprise on her face.

For the next few minutes he could do nothing but stand in place. Where had that come from? He couldn't remember any kind of childhood. He couldn't even remember things that had happened last month. All he could be sure of was the memory of the helicarrier and onwards.

The other things that came to him were merely whispers – and whispers had a tendency to be untrustworthy.

Was it true though? Was he _really_ not a fan of books?

He thought back to when he had read the book Grace had given him. The content was interesting, but did he love reading it? No. Not really. But then again, he couldn't remember the last time he'd read something other than mission specs.

He had no idea why he had said what he'd said. And yet, it felt…true.

Coming back to himself slightly, he saw that Grace was still frozen in place, the surprised expression clear on her face.

Needing to break the silence, he opted to tell her the truth.

"I don't know why I said that."

"Is it… I mean, do you…" she stuttered, "Do you remember… _stuff_? She finished awkwardly.

Solemnly, he shook his head.

"Oh." She sounded disappointed. "Then, you _do_ like books?"

Again he shook his head – half expecting to be chastised for his non-verbal communication.

Only, instead of scolding him, she smiled at him. "Well that's good then. That means there's hope. Obviously, you have memories in there that you don't even _know_ you have."

It was a nice thought. To think that, despite their best efforts, HYDRA had failed in turning him into a mindless assassin. But at the same time, he dared not get his hopes up – or hers, for that matter. So, instead, he opted for a simple "maybe".

Smiling at him once more, Grace turned her attention to the table where she had finally finished her sorting. "Okay, so, this…" she gestured to the random piles, "is why I was 15 minutes late."

"This pile is clothing. I'm sure it'll fit, but if it doesn't I'll just take them back and exchange them. There's enough her to get you through a few days at a time – which is good cause that's about how often I do laundry. So a win-win there."

She moved on, gesturing to the next pile on the table, "Also, I got you some toiletries. Nothing fancy, just the basics. Toothbrush, disposable razors, shaving cream, and some shampoo and conditioner – cause I'm _sure_ you don't want to smell like coconut forever." She smirked at him.

As she spoke, he found he could do nothing but stare at her. This was too much. She had gone to too much trouble for him. He didn't deserve this.

Grace, however, took no notice of his bewildered state, and continued on.

"And this, _this_ is probably the part you'll like the most. Now, I know we had a little… argument this morning..." She ducked her head slightly at the mention of their 'dispute', embarrassment creeping into her tone.

"…And I _still_ don't think you should leave. But I get where you're coming from. So I got you this." She gestured to a pile of various items on the end of the table.

Picking up of the items, he could see that it was a bag – a backpack. "It's a Go-Bag" she explained.

"My Dad was a cop for like, 20 years. And he _always_ had one, so I thought maybe you could benefit from one as well. Basically, it's a bag that's always packed with the essentials – that way, if you need to leave in a hurry, you already have everything you need.

It's funny…" she continued, her voice sounding suddenly far away. "I remember my dad always telling me that he used to get in trouble for the things he packed in his Go-Bag. His boss used to say that he was wasting valuable space by packing 'useless items', but my dad never listened. For him, family photos and drawings from your kids were totally essential…"

He studied her. He had never seen Grace like this. It was clear to him that she was remembering. Her gaze, just like her voice, was focused somewhere far away, and her mouth was turned up in the smallest of smiles. There was a sadness there though…

Breaking out of her reverie, Grace returned to the backpack in her hand, continuing on as though nothing had happened. "Anyway… I thought a Go-Bag would be a good thing for you to have – you know, just _in case_ you suddenly need to leave.

So, there's the backpack, two sets of clothes, a raincoat, a toothbrush and toothpaste, and $1000 in cash. Of course, you'll probably want to add a few more things to it – like your gun probably. But I just thought this would be a good place to start…"

"Grace…" he started. He wasn't sure if she was finished or not, but he couldn't bear to let her go on if there was more. "…I… I can't… This… it's too much. You've done too much for me."

"What? …No. It's fine. It's nothing." She tried to brush off what she'd done, and somehow he found that it only frustrated him more.

"Really? Nothing? $1000 cash is nothing?" He could see by the look on her face that she had picked up on the annoyance in his tone.

"I just… I don't know!" she replied, suddenly exasperated. "I know that this is probably a bit much, but… I guess… I just think that you're worth it!"

"Why? You don't even know me, Grace…"

"But I do." She replied forcefully. "Maybe not _you_, the _you_ you are now, but… Bucky Barnes. Anyone who went to high school in America _knows_ about Bucky Barnes, and I know you don't remember who you were and what you did, but you were good. You were a hero. The things you did… the lives you saved… Argh!" she was becoming more and more worked up now, and he had no idea why.

"You shouldn't even be here, you know! You should be dead! And _not_ because you tragically fell to your death from a moving train in 1944, but because you finished fighting when the war ended, and you went back to Brooklyn. You met a nice girl, and you got married, and had kids. And then you died of old age, in your house, surrounded by your grandchildren… _That's_ what should've happened to you – not this!" she gestured towards him.

"You deserve so much more than what you got, James. That's why I'm doing this. And I don't care if you don't think you're worth it – I'm going to do it anyway."

The next few minutes passed in silence. He didn't want to argue with her again – especially not after this morning. But he didn't agree with her either. Maybe he _had_ been a good man once, but that was long before he had started working for HYDRA.

If there was cosmic scale that weighed a person's good deeds against their bad – his scale was well-weighted to the bad. Grace just couldn't see that.

So, instead, he decided to appease her. For now.

"If I accept this, you need to let me pay you back. I don't care how, but I can't let you do all these things for me and have you get nothing in return…"

Slowly she let a gentle smile spread across her face. If he didn't know better, he would say that she had been anticipating another argument too.

"Fine then." She replied lightly, "Come with me, I'll teach you how to use the washing machine."


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Hi All, **

**I warn you – this is more of a filler chapter. I'm about to move into the, I guess, 'snapshots' of Grace and Bucky, so that we get to see the development of their friendship, rather than their day by day; otherwise, we would never really get anywhere. **

**Also, I know it's been all quiet and nice so far, but I am planning some more high-intensity stuff, I just want to establish some kind of foundation between the two main characters first. **

**So, yeah, I hope you like it. **

**X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X**

It should've been weird.

After all, one doesn't just take a strange, homeless-looking man into their home and expect everything to just slip into place.

…Except it sort of did.

It had been a week now. Bucky Barnes had been living in her apartment for exactly one week, and as strange as it might have sounded to anyone else, the living arrangement was working perfectly.

She would emerge from her room each morning for breakfast, and each morning, less than 2 minutes later he would join her. At first they had eaten mostly in silence, but as the week drew on, and Grace continued her nudging, they now ate breakfast with a steady flow of conversation. That being said, it was still her that did most of the talking; but he willingly engaged with her now, so that was _something_.

And then, she would leave for work while he, from all reports, would busy himself with whatever he could find. He did little bits of reading, but his unexplained outburst days earlier was holding true: he didn't really like books.

The television, on the other hand, seemed to be a different story. Even though she knew he didn't spend _all_ day in front of it, he had to be cutting it close. Especially when considering that _that_ was where she usually found him when she returned home at the end of the day.

She found she didn't really mind though. Particularly since it never failed to get him talking. When the conversation in the evening seemed to run to a halt, all she had to do was ask what he had watched on TV that day and he was off; animated and, sometimes, even excited about whatever he had seen or learned. It was somewhat akin to asking a small child what they had done on their first day of school. And, it was adorable.

She knew for a fact, however, that he did other things during the day as well. For example, he had taken on nearly all laundry responsibilities – except for her underwear. It might have been childish of her, but she felt that it was best for both of them if her delicates were left to her.

He had also started washing up. Before she had merely rinsed her dishes throughout the day before _attempting_ to wash everything at the end of the night after dinner. However, more often than not, she found that she ended up letting the rinsed dishes pile up for a few days, only washing them when she ran out of plates.

But not anymore. At least not with Bucky around.

In the back of her mind, she knew it was crazy. You didn't just take strangers into your home and integrate them into your life – especially not when said stranger was a 98 year old assassin with a serious case of amnesia. But that's what she had done.

And it had turned out fine. For now.

That was the part that was secretly worrying her – the 'for now'. What was the outcome here? Was he going to stay forever? Is that what he wanted? More importantly, is that what _she_ wanted?

She thought on this for a moment. What _did_ she want?

She wanted to help him.

She had said that right from the start. And it was no less true now than it had been then. And what's more, is that now, he was her friend.

At least, that was how it felt. Yes, it had only been a week but, after a quick mental survey, she was pretty sure they could tick all the boxes to qualify as friends.

One – they talked all the time. Well… most of the time.

Two – she told him things about her personal life. Granted it was only small bits and pieces here and then, but to her, it still counted.

Three – he told her personal things about himself. Sort of.

To be fair, he pretty much had no idea what personal things were going on in his life – in fact, it was probably accurate to say that she knew more about him that he did. But he _did_ try.

Every now and then he would say little things. Sentences or even just words that screamed volumes about what he'd been through. He'd told her about his last mission, and how he was supposed to kill Captain America, and how he almost did, and how he decided not to.

Maybe it wasn't much, but she knew it was far more than he'd ever told anyone else. Well, anyone else he could recall anyway.

Four – they trusted each other. She might have no idea why, but she did. And she could tell from the way he had opened up in the past few days that he had put his trust in her as well.

She liked that.

And five – they were constantly teasing one another.

She knew there were others that would probably question her sense of friendship on that last one, but she didn't care. For Grace, being able to laugh with and _at_ friends was incredibly important. And she and Bucky picked on each other as though they had been doing it for years.

Her mother said that _that_ was what made her a flirt, and was why she had almost never been allowed out of the house without her brother as a teenager. Grace, as always, chose to disagree. What did her mother know anyway?

So, yes.

She didn't know if or when he would choose to leave, or if or when he would get his memories back. But that was okay. They were friends. And that was the only thing that really mattered right now.

Before she could contemplate the issue any further, Grace found herself distracted as flying projectile collided with her face.

A pillow.

Looking across the couch, she was met with the expectant face of the culprit.

"Did you just throw a pillow? At my face?"

"Well, calling your name 5 times just wasn't having the desired effect." He shot back at her. "Someone's at the door."

"Oh," was all she could offer. "Probably pizza, I guess."

Climbing off the couch and making her way to the door, she was sure to snatch the pillow off floor and hurl it back in his direction.

He caught it, of course. Damn.

Doing a quick check to make sure that it was, in fact, the pizza delivery at the door, she quickly removed the chain and greeted the teenage boy at her threshold. She made the usual small talk as she paid him before closing the door, pizza in hand.

As soon as the chain was back on the door, Bucky was up and removing the pizza box from her hands, making a hasty beeline for the kitchen.

"Hungry, are we?" she quipped at him.

"What can I say? Laundry and washing up is hard labour." He returned easily, grabbing two plates from the cabinet.

She laughed at his comment. "Oh, speaking of hard labour – I've been meaning to ask you… Have you been shifting my furniture?"

"What?" Although she could only _just_ make out the word through the mouthful of pizza.

"I don't know… it's just a few things really. Like the coffee table, it just seems a bit off. I didn't move it, so I was kind of hoping you did… Otherwise, I'm going crazy."

In truth, she had noticed a few little changes when she came home on Monday. The day she had been 'late'. OCD wasn't necessarily how she would have described herself, but when you've lived in a place as long as she had lived in her apartment, you tended to know _exactly_ where things went. And certain pieces of furniture had recently been set askew.

"Um… Yeah. I might have moved them. Sort of." He replied, not meeting her gaze.

She shrugged. "It's okay, you know. If they were in your way you have every right to move them. I just noticed, that's all."

Finally, he met her gaze, a twinge of guilt evident upon his face.

"What?" she asked, confused.

"They weren't in my way…" he said. She had never heard him so sheepish before, so naturally, her curiosity peaked.

"What do you mean?"

"It's more that I was… using them."

"Using them for what?" her brow furrowed, and the eyebrow instantly went up.

He coughed awkwardly before blurting out the word "weights" so quickly she could barely hear it.

And then after a few seconds, it clicked.

"Wait, you've been using my furniture for…. Exercise?!" She didn't know if she was angry or not. Surprised was probably the best term for what she was feeling, although, that didn't quite cover it.

"It's just… you know… I need to be ready. In case."

"You know there's a gym on the 7th floor, right?"

She could feel that her eyebrow was still raised, but she didn't seem to have the power to bring it back down.

"Oh. No, I didn't know that." He said after several seconds. "But, it's not like I can go there. I can't risk being caught on camera, or even having other people see me there. It's not safe."

She thought about that for a few moments. He was right. Even if the gym didn't have the CCTV cameras, you could never tell when other tenants were going to be in there. Anyone could see him.

"Touché" she offered, making a mental note to come back to the exercise issue at another time. "So, what are we watching tonight?"

"Um…" he seemed somewhat surprised by her sudden subject change, but apparently decided to run with it. "I don't know. What do you want to watch?"

"Well, I looked at the guide and narrowed it down to 2 options; either of which are totally acceptable, and quite frankly, I'm going to make sure you watch them both at some point anyway…"

"Why?"

"Because, films are a crucial part of pop culture, and these 2 are practically compulsory." She replied simply.

"Okay. So, what are the choices?"

"Movie number 1 is called 'Speed' and the other one is called 'The Terminator'."

"That was informative." He muttered sarcastically. "What are they even about?"

"One is about a bus that will explode if goes under 50 miles per hour and the other is about a futuristic robot sent back in time to kill the leader of the human resistance before he's even conceived…"

He shrugged. "Which one is better?"

She gasped at him, a look of mock-horror on her face. "You might as well just ask a mother which of her children is her favourite…"

Now it was his turn to raise an eyebrow. "Because there's nothing like being overdramatic…"

She slapped his arm playfully before rolling her eyes. "Fine, we'll watch 'Speed', but only because I haven't seen it in ages."

And with that, they found themselves back on the couch; the remote in her hand, and a pizza in between them.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Hi all, **

**I know it's been AGES – nearly 2 months, and I'm sorry. Unfortunately, all I have to give are the usual study and work excuses, but I apologise nonetheless. **

**Anyway, now I'm on holidays, I really want to try and get back into this story. Which has been harder than I thought. I actually had to re-read all the previous chapters before I could write this one. **

**So, in conclusion, I hope you like it, and I hope you don't hate me for my absence. **

**X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X**

It was 3 days later when the night terrors started.

Not hers. His.

Once again, she found herself at the kitchen table putting in extra hours for her job – anything really to get this fundraising gala back on track…

Squinting her eyes against the bright light of her laptop screen, she let out a weary sigh as she thought longing of the comfortable bed waiting for her just down the hall. It would be so easy just to call it a night, especially since she still had to go to work tomorrow morning…

Siding with sleep, she checked the time on her computer: _2:13am_. Yeah, definitely time to call it a night.

Slowly she rose from her spot at the table, stretching as she went, trying to work out the stiffness in her joints from staying seated for too long. She had just reached the final stages of shutting down when she heard it… or rather, heard _him_.

The first thing that crossed her mind was confusion. He wasn't yelling, as such; the sound was more akin to… struggling – and it wasn't overly loud either. In fact, she had to strain her ears to make it out properly.

In the week and a half he'd been with her, she'd never known him to have sleep disturbances like the kind he seemed to be having now. Or maybe… "_Oh God_" she whispered to herself.

…Maybe he _wasn't_ having sleep disturbances – maybe someone had broken into her apartment to find him. He was a wanted man, after all.

Grabbing a butcher's knife from the kitchen, Grace did her best to soundlessly creep down the hall towards James' room. Glancing down at the knife in her hand, she internally berated herself. She didn't know how to brandish a knife! She knew how to use a gun, but her 9mm was currently securely stowed away in her safe where it belonged.

She briefly contemplated swapping weapons but decided that opening her safe in the darkness would generate far too much noise, and waste far too much time. No, she'd just have to hope that whoever had broken in would buy the bluff she was about to sell.

Her heart rate quickened as she approached the door; grasping the knife firmly in her right hand, she reached out for the door handle with her left. Taking a moment to steel herself she heard the tortured sounds of her roommate.

Her heart clenched in her chest as she listened to him from the other side of the door.

"No, please! …. You don't need to… Ah!"

Slowly, realisation dawned on her. As she heard the sound of him _begging_ and crying out in pain, she knew without a doubt that there was no intruder in her home. She pushed back the tears threatening to come forth, retreating to the kitchen as she did. He had begged, actually _begged_.

She hadn't thought such a thing was possible.

Dumping the knife in the kitchen, she grabbed two glasses and set them down on the counter before filling one with water and the other with something a great deal stronger. She was just about to head back down the hall when a thought suddenly occurred to her – even though she was sure he would refuse them, she went to her medication cabinet and pocketed some sleeping pills anyway.

Both glasses in hand she silently opened the door, admitting herself entry to his room. For a moment she allowed herself to think of the novelty of the title – a week and a half ago it had been "the spare room", and now she couldn't help but think of it as "his room". Funny how quickly things can change…

Soundlessly she placed the glasses on the bedside table before turning to look at him. He was still asleep and was still being tormented by his own dreams – or were they nightmares?

The small window off to the side illuminated the room just enough for her to get a good look at him.

He was lying on his back, wearing only a pair of sweatpants. Both his face and chest shone with a thin layer of sweat; his hair was completely tousled, as were the bed sheets – he had clearly been tossing and turning. Anything to escape the horrors in his head, she supposed.

She noted briefly that his hands were desperately clutching at the mattress, his metal one actually seemed to have created a hole in the hard foam. She couldn't help but wonder if it was the only one, or merely the latest in a long line.

Finally, her gaze rested on his face. Even with his eyes closed, he was the picture of fear and pain. And it looked wrong.

The man she knew was strong, tortured? …Yes. But strong nonetheless. He was smart, and inquisitive, and had an unexpectedly quick wit about him. Those things, _those_ qualities were the ones that belonged on his face, all of which were supposed to be topped off by a signature smirk that he seemed to be getting the hang of. Not these. Not pain. And certainly not fear.

These didn't belong. Or at the very least, they _shouldn't_.

A wave of determination washed over her then, and she took a deep breath to prepare herself for what was to come. Slowly, he reached out her hand towards him; upon making contact with his right shoulder she offered a slight shake as she softly called to him.

Anything to make waking up as gentle as possible.

Nothing happened.

Taking a step closer to the bed to give herself more leverage, she tried again, firmer this time.

"Hey, James. It's me. You need to wake up."

He didn't wake, but his whimpering seemed to increase – almost as though he thought she was there to hurt him.

Propping her knee up on the mattress, she attempted once more to soothe him.

"Hey, shhh... it's okay. You're safe. I'm not here to hurt you, I'm trying to help-"

His eyes snapped open, and in a flurry of movement that her eyes weren't quite able to follow in the dim light, she promptly found herself pinned underneath her tenant with a gun rested against her temple.

It all happened too fast for her to scream, and now, in her current position, she found herself too shocked to say anything.

She looked up into his face. It was like he couldn't even see her.

His eyes were burning with hatred, and his entire face was a mask of cool steel – and suddenly she understood why he had once been called names like "asset" and "soldier". The face she saw right now… it was barely human.

Her heart rate sped up, and for the first time ever she could honestly say that she was afraid. Not of James. James didn't scare her – _he_ would never hurt her. But _this_ man. This wasn't James.

It became clear to her that she still needed to wake him up – because even though his eyes were open, he still wasn't living in the same reality as her.

"You said wouldn't hurt me"

Despite the situation her voice came out strong and unafraid – something she could be proud of later. If there _was_ a later.

A few seconds passed before she saw him begin to blink furiously, almost as if someone had turned the lights on too quickly and his eyes needed to adjust. When his blinking stopped she could see that the hatred had gone from his eyes, and she heaved a sigh of relief knowing that he was himself again.

He, on the other hand, took one look at their position, and practically threw himself off the bed in a state of panic. Quickly regaining his footing on the floor, he dismantled the gun still in his hand and let the pieces drop to the floor, turning to stare at her wide eyed when the task was done.

"What… What are you…"

The stress was clear in his voice and his breathing was laboured, as though he'd just run a marathon.

She sat up on the bed, "James…" she tried.

"I could've killed you… _No_, more than that…"

"James, it's fine-"

"It's not fine!" he practically shouted at her. "I nearly killed you, Grace! How could you think that's fine?!"

She stood up from the bed and tried to approach him. "Okay, just calm down – that wasn't you."

He laughed harshly, "No, Grace. That's just it. That _was_ me, no - it _is_ me. That's what I do. That's who they made me."

"That might be what they trained you to do, but it's not who you are, okay?" she was close to him now, close enough to touch him. She attempted to reach out to him – to soothe him once more.

Before she could reach him, he saw what she was doing and gently batted her hand away. "No, don't touch me. It's not safe."

This time, she was the one who laughed.

"Bullshit." She countered, as she continued to move towards him.

With nowhere else to go, he found himself backed into the wall. Feeling the hard surface against his skin, he slid down the wall to the floor, bringing his knees into his chest. It was as if he was trying to make himself as small as possible – if not for the setting, she would have found it funny.

Someone as tall and as broad as him could never be considered small.

Kneeling next to him, she went on.

"And do you know _why_ that's bullshit? …Because you're right, James. You could've killed me, you had a prime opportunity. But you didn't. You hesitated. If you hadn't we wouldn't be having this conversation. Now, I'm not an expert, but somehow I don't think they – whoever _they_ are, trained you to hesitate…"

He didn't reply. He didn't even look in her direction.

She must've waited a good 5 minutes before she realised he wasn't going to. Still, she refused to give up. If he wanted to play this game, then she would play it too.

Resting back on her feet, she moved to sit next to him against the wall, bringing her knees towards her chest as she went – mirroring him as best she could.

There was nothing to do now but wait him out.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Hi all, **

**Just a quick note to say that this chapter follows directly on from the last. **

**I hope you like it. :)**

**X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X**

"I can still remember"

Internally, she jumped at the sound. After sitting side by side in profound silence for just over an hour, she had begun to think she was never going to hear his voice again.

Then again, it wasn't exactly _his_ voice. At least not the one she'd grown accustomed to anyway.

This voice was raspy – from lack of use or from crying out in his sleep, she wasn't sure; but it was more than that. Even with only small four words, the pain and confusion in his tone was unmistakable.

She wanted nothing more than to reach out to him. She had no idea what was going on with him or what was causing him so much pain, all she knew was that she wanted to fix it. Make the pain go away.

Reason stopped her though. She knew, without a doubt, that he would not appreciate her touch right now. Particularly not after the incident with the gun an hour earlier.

She dared not speak either. She wasn't sure why exactly – it was really more of an instinct. Something telling her that he was on the verge of revealing something of himself, something _huge_ – something she didn't think he would do if she intervened.

With nothing else to offer, she merely turned her head to the side to look at him.

At the very least, she was glad to see that he seemed to have calmed down. She had been doing little else but listen to the sound of his steady breathing for the past sixty minutes, so she had known for quite some time that he had improved, but still. Being able to look at his face and _not_ see the sheer panic that had been there before took a weight of her heart that she hadn't even known was there.

His face remained blank as he spoke again – not to her, she noted. And not _exactly_ to himself either. It was although he was talking to… the universe. Or maybe just to anyone he thought would listen.

"I never remember the dreams. They always fade away, but… I _remember_ this one."

Shaking his head slightly, he brought his hands up to rub his eyes. She imagined they were probably quite heavy with fatigue. After all, if one thing had become clear tonight, it was that for him: sleep did not necessarily equate to rest.

She stayed silent as he brought his hands away from his face before stretching his legs out straight in front of him.

As she took in his change in position, she felt a new wave of relief wash over her. It was over. He was back.

She wasn't sure how she knew or what made her so sure, but those were questions she could revisit at a later time.

"Do you want to tell me about it?" she asked softly, finding her own voice slightly raspy from lack of use.

Turning his own face towards hers, he sent her a grim smile. "Are you sure you really want to hear?"

"Yes"

Sighing, he turned his face away to lean his head back against the wall; his eyes becoming fixed on the ceiling.

"They were wiping me." He stated simply.

Her brow furrowed in confusion – "_wiping_"?

She opened to her mouth to ask, but he beat her to it.

"It was this… _procedure_" he spat the word as though it were poison, "that they used to do to me. They'd sit me in this chair with metal restraints, and then they'd shove a teeth-guard in my mouth – you know, cause they wouldn't want me to _hurt_ myself."

He let out a harsh laugh at that.

"Then there would be these… _things_. Metal, clamp-type things that just got sandwiched around my head. And then, next thing you know, there's so much electricity blasting through your head that it's all you can do to breathe, let alone remember your own name.

"…That's why they did it, you see. They couldn't have me knowing too much – so, after every mission I completed, they wiped me and put me back in cryo. A clean slate."

There was slight pause before he finished with: "It's why I don't remember."

Instantly, Grace wanted to be sick. She could feel the bile tickling the back of her throat. How could they _do_ that – how could _anybody_ do that to another human being?!

And what's more, how was he still standing?

"How many times?" she practically whispered.

"No idea." He said matter-of-factly. "I was their "asset" for round-about 70 years, so your guess is about as good as mine."

She had no reply for that, and for the first time ever, she actually found that she was happy to let silence descend upon them. She had so many emotions warring within her – revulsion, anger, disbelief; all of them directed at the people who had done this to him. Who the hell are these people anyway?!

"Who… Who did this to you?" she found herself asking. Barely realising that she had spoken as the words left her mouth.

"They're called HYDRA." He answered. "And every time I did a job for them, they told it was because they needed me to "_shape mankind_". I guess I just always thought that that meant I was doing those things for the greater good. Now, I think maybe there are better shapes mankind could've taken."

"You can't possibly blame yourself for the things they made you do!"

"Why? It's not like blaming HYDRA makes it any easier." He shrugged. "People are still dead, Grace. And I'm the one that killed them."

She sighed deeply before moving her hand to cover one of his. "Somehow I think you're just as much a victim are they are."

Without saying anything, he turned his head to meet her eyes, a sad smile playing on his features. It was intense. And she was suddenly aware that she had never been so close to him. Sure, maybe the window incident came close in physicality, but this was different.

She could feel the warmth of his hand as it rested beneath her own, making her even more aware of the fact that he hadn't pulled away from her touch, as she had expected him to; that realisation, coupled with the intensity of his stare, had her heart beat accelerating and her breathing all but non-existent.

She wasn't sure how long they stayed like that, but she was the one to break it.

"So was that your dream? Them wiping you?"

At that, he blinked, and the moment was broken. Something she regretted whole-heartedly. Just because she had never experienced something so intense before, didn't mean she didn't like it. Alas, she now realised that such a revelation was too little, too late.

"Yeah, basically. Except, it was different. Sort of. I think it was a memory, maybe. I'm not sure, but I think… I think it actually happened.

The thing is, even though I could never remember my past missions or personal information, I _never_ forgot what wiping felt like. It _hurts_." She cringed as he emphasised the last word.

"In my dream, I think it must have been about the fourth or fifth time they were wiping me, and I tried to convince them that they didn't have to. That they could trust me. Which makes sense considering I would've done just about anything to avoid another wipe."

"…And you think it was real?" she asked after a few seconds.

"I can't be sure."

"But what does your gut tell you?"

He laughed a bit at that, a real laugh this time –not the harsh snort she'd come to expect over the course of the evening, or should she say, morning.

"I don't know. It just _feels_ like it could be real."

She sent him a small smile, "Well, terrible-ness aside, isn't that a good thing? I mean, this could mean that you might actually be able to get your memory back."

He sent her a small smile in return, "maybe".

With absolutely no warning, a huge yawn erupted from her throat. She could practically feel herself turning crimson as he chuckled at her.

"I think maybe you should get some sleep." He offered, the mood in the room suddenly 3 tonnes lighter.

"I will if you will", she shot back.

"Pfft. No thanks, I think I've had enough sleep for one night."

"So what, you're never going to sleep again? For the rest of your life?"

"Do you think I could manage it?" He replied, a playful tone in his voice.

"No." she shook her head, her tone as equally playful, "And I _certainly_ don't think you should try."

Laughing softly to himself, he took his hand from under hers – the sudden loss of contact displeasing her thoroughly – and brought it back down over the top of her hand, giving it a light squeeze.

"Seriously, you should get some sleep. Your eyelids are practically drooping."

"Well, shucks, you sure know how to make a girl feel special."

Rolling his eyes at her, he stood up from the floor before turning and offering his hand out towards her.

Letting out a huge sigh, she took it. Only to be swiftly yanked from the ground and over his shoulder.

She couldn't help the girlish squeal, and wasted no time in voicing her disapproval.

"And what exactly do you think you're doing?" She tried to sound firm, but the interspersed giggling gave her away.

"You'll see."

She didn't know what she had been expecting, but having him carry her over his shoulder out of his room and all the way to her own, was _not_ it.

Furthermore, she had been almost sure that he would stop at her door and put her down - hence why she was very surprised when he turned the handle and walked right on through, turning the light on as he went.

Stopping next to her bed, she briefly noted the way the muscles in his back tensed and rippled as he bent to pull back the covers.

Apparently done with his task, he promptly threw her down onto her bed, a smile illuminating his face as he did.

She rolled her eyes at him, but the smile on her own face was evidence enough that she was anything but annoyed.

"Happy now?" she quipped.

He shrugged, "It's a start."

And with that, he turned and left the room, switching off her light as he went.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Hi all, **

**Just wanted to apologise for any spelling or grammar issues with this one. I sat down and banged this out pretty quick this morning. And, I just know that (despite the proof-read), there's going to be something I missed.**

**Hope you like it… **

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Letting out a heavy sigh as she traipsed down the hall to her apartment, Grace could think of little else but kicking off her shoes and collapsing on her bed.

This gala would be the end of her.

Normally, events like this weren't a problem for her – in fact, they were normally the easiest; whether that was because she was good at them or just the fact that they were favourite, she didn't know. What she did know, however, was that she was going to need some kind of vacation when this was all over.

It was either that, or bashing her boss over the head with a skillet.

Before she could fantasize further about maiming her boss, the door to apartment 35 burst open to reveal her elderly next door neighbour.

That was always the way, wasn't it? Elderly next door neighbours… although, she supposed, to be fair: Rachael in apartment 39 was a long way away from her nursing home days.

Abandoning these musings, Grace paused in the hall to take in the sight of Mrs. Milligan. She may have been skinny and short of stature, but frail was the last word anyone would have used to describe the older woman.

In fact, she was more of the hip-grandma type than a typical elderly woman. She wore fitted Capri pants in a vibrant teal that were tastefully contrasted with the white blouse and white canvas shoes that topped off the ensemble. Couple that with her small, sandy blonde afro and gold costume jewellery, and you had the one and only Sandra Milligan.

Grace smiled at her neighbour, and inwardly hoped that she could be as stylish when she was in her 70s – well, except for the hair… and maybe a little less jewellery.

"Alright, Mrs. Milligan?" Grace asked

"Oh yes, dear. I'm fine. It's me who should be asking you if you're alright…"

Grace's brow instantly furrowed in confusion, "Sorry?"

"I heard you the other night, dear." The older woman explained in what was almost a hushed whisper. "On Monday night. Or really, Tuesday morning. All that noise – I thought someone must've broken in and was attacking you! I nearly called the police you know…"

Grace was taken aback. She knew exactly what her neighbour was referring to, and could only thank her lucky stars that the woman seemed none-the-wiser to the man currently living in her apartment. She didn't need anyone knowing that she was harbouring a 90-something fugitive in her home.

"…But then the noises stopped, and I assumed you must have been alright. But, still, it's good to check…" the woman trailed off and fixed Grace with an expectant look.

It took a few seconds for her to catch on before she replied with, "Oh – yeah, no I'm fine. Really. It's just… you know, stuff at work has been really hectic, and I've been doing a lot of thinking about… well, about New York." The last part was a lie. She _never_ thought about New York, it was something she'd promised herself she would never do again. But still, desperate times called for desperate measures.

Mrs. Milligan seemed to understand instantly – in all honestly, there weren't many who wouldn't. New York had affected most people in one way or another; it was like a wound that humanity shared.

"So, you're sure you're alright then, dear?"

"Yes, I'm sure. But thank you," Grace offered earnestly. "It means a lot that you'd care enough to check."

At that the old lady waved her hand in the air – a universal sign of "think nothing of it", before retreating back into her apartment. "Alright then, dear. I'll talk to you later."

"You too, Mrs. Milligan" Grace continued to smile as the door to number 35 closed before resuming her trek to her own door.

As distracted as she was, the smell of smoke that wafted to her nose from beyond the door was unmistakable. Instantly, panic rose within her.

Her apartment was on fire, and James was in there.

Shoving her key into the lock, she desperately battled with the door to get inside. The smoke alarm had just started to sound as the door swung forward and she stumbled into her apartment.

With no time to lose, she furtively scanned the areas of the apartment that she could see: Hallway – fine; living room – fine; kitchen – James batting a tea-towel at a cloud of smoke. Yeah, not fine. Dashing in his direction, she grabbed the fire extinguisher as she went.

The closer she got, the more she was able to make out the cause of the smoke. A pan. Wait – a _baking_ pan? What had he been doing with a baking pan? And more to the point, why was it on fire?!

Without a moment to lose, she removed the pin from the extinguisher and aimed the foam right at the source. 10 seconds and the crisis was over… well, except for the constant blaring of the smoke alarm.

Wincing at the sound, she placed the extinguisher on the bench top before climbing onto it herself. Even with the added height of the kitchen counter _and_ her heels, she still had to stretch to hit the disable button on the alarm – damn these high ceilings!

After several failed attempts she managed to silence the alarm, letting out a huge sigh as she did.

Now, for the next problem.

Still on the bench top, she turned to look at her would-be fire-starter. And burst out laughing.

Standing in the middle of her kitchen was James: tea-towel in hand, an apron covering his front, and the most stunned expression she'd ever seen him wear. It was the most ridiculous sight she could've imagined.

Recovering from her fit of laughter, she jumped down from the counter to stand in front of him.

"So… how was your day?" she asked, a teasing tone in place

"I… Well, I think we might need to order take out…" he replied, still seeming quite stunned.

She laughed again, "Yeah, I think that might be best. What were you doing anyway?"

Still shell-shocked, he turned the bench top and retrieved a book that he promptly held out to her. She looked at it closely – a cook book. Opened to a recipe for lasagne.

Even though she didn't say "aww" out loud, she definitely thought it. Could he be any cuter right now?

"I see, and how would you say your career as a MasterChef is working out so far?"

"Well, I definitely see room for improvement." He quipped back, finally starting to sound like himself again.

Letting out a sigh, he turned to the charred baking pan to pick it up.

"Careful, it'll still be-" ignoring her, he merely used his metal hand to pick up the pan and place in the sink.

"-hot", she finished lamely.

"So you've seen how my day went, how was yours?" he asked as he turned back to face her.

"Oh, about as golden as that lasagne…"

Briefly, he turned back to glance at the blackened pasta dish. "I see."

"So," she brightened, trying to change the subject, "What do you want to order for dinner?"

"Well, I think considering I nearly burnt down your apartment, that maybe you should get to pick what we eat"

"Meh, I couldn't care less – I'm exhausted. In fact, if I hadn't had to use the extinguisher on your cooking, I would probably be eating it right now."

"Well, if that's the way you feel, I could scrape of the foam" he teased her.

She sent him a "very funny" look, "Tell you what: you choose, you order – I'm going to shower and change. Deal?"

"Sure."

And with that she headed to the bathroom – until she remembered something.

Walking back to the door where she had dumped her handbag, she found what she was looking for.

Grabbing the leather bound notebook, she headed over the couch where he was currently reviewing different take-out menus.

"Hey," she interrupted, "I got you something…"

"Grace-" he said, a warning tone present in his voice. She knew he didn't like it when she bought him things.

"Don't be like that – I didn't buy it, it's something I've had for ages. I just keep it at my desk at work."

It was half true – she had, in fact, purchased the notebook – only, she'd done it years ago. Grace was someone with, shall we say, an _affinity_ for stationary. Something her mother had always despised because it meant that every school year Grace would _insist_ upon new pens and books – even if last year's were still good.

But still, having bought the book a few years back, she had taken to keeping it in her desk at work thinking she might find a use for it one day, but she hadn't. Well, until now.

He sighed at her, before accepting the book and flipping through the blank pages.

"What's it for?" he questioned.

"It's for you. To write down things that you remember. You know, like the thing about the books you said last week, and… you know… the dream."

He opened his mouth to say something, probably protest, so she kept going before he could get a word in.

"But, it doesn't have to just be for things you remember. It can be for the future as well. You can write about the stuff you do and learn, things you want to see. Anything. …I just thought, I don't know… That maybe if you could write stuff down, you'd have a better chance of holding onto it.

…I don't know. Maybe it's stupid. You don't have to if you don't want to." She finished.

Saying nothing, he merely nodded at her.

Sending him a small smile, she turned and began making her way to the bathroom. She had walked maybe 6 steps before he stopped her.

"Hey, Grace?"

"Yeah?" she turned back to meet his eyes.

"Thanks."

Smiling, she sent him a small nod. "Any time"


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Hi all,**

**A little bit from Bucky's point of view this time – considering it's been a while since we've seen his side of things. **

**Also, I promise I ****_am_**** planning to get to some more interesting plot points – maybe even throw a little conflict in there, but at the moment I'm really just working on building up a nice solid foundation, and I ****_really_**** don't want to rush it. **

**Besides, fluff never hurt anyone, right?**

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Squinting in the dim light of the kitchen, Bucky put down his pen and reviewed his work.

Grace had gone to bed a few hours ago, whereas he – unknown to her – still hadn't worked up the courage to try for a full night's sleep since the 'incident' a few days ago.

Instead he had been napping on the couch by day, whilst filling time with thinking or reading by night; they weren't his favourite activities, but at such a late hour, the TV was off limits. After all, just because he wasn't sleeping didn't mean that Grace had to suffer too.

Looking down at the notebook on the table, he couldn't help the warmth that spread into his heart.

Grace had gotten it for him – for no other reason than to help him. _Him_. Not because she wanted to read all his secrets or because she thought it would make a good media headline. None of that. She just did it because… well, because she was _Grace_.

Other people might not understand what that meant, but it was coming a little clearer to him every day.

Here she was, this woman. This _unbelievable_ woman who had taken him in from the cold (literally), and given him not only a place to stay, food to eat, and clean clothes, but also an introduction to the modern world.

And then, on top of that, despite knowing the things he'd done – the atrocities that he, himself, had committed, she refused to run from him. Not once had she indicated that she was afraid of him, or that the things he'd done in the past disgusted her.

Other people would have fled from him. Well, it was either _that_, or lock him up. Which, in all honestly, were probably two of the smartest things to do with him. Lord knows they were the more sensible.

But not according to Grace. She didn't see things like that. For whatever reason, she wanted to help him – and as much as he wanted to resist her efforts, there was a part of him that screamed out a little louder every day to just give in and let her.

He had a feeling that was why he had already filled 5 pages of the notebook. So far, it only contained his "memories" – the time when he'd mentioned his lack of love for books and the dream. Of course, he had included his personal musings on the topics as well. Something he had found he actually liked.

It was as though writing down all the different feelings he was having towards those moments helped him get them straight in his own mind. Not to mention the freedom of getting to voice – or rather, _write_ – his own opinions on the matter.

For so long now, so, _so_ long, his world had been black and white. HYDRA had never asked him how he felt about his missions or whether he was okay; _Hell_, even asking him about the weather would've been too much of a stretch. No, there had only been targets and weapons with which he was supposed to take them out. Black and White.

But now, getting to express himself like this – even though it was only paper and no one would ever see it. It was like a whole new world that he revelled in. It was like he was splashing colour all over his life – like the ugliest, most colourful finger painting you've ever seen.

And there was something else Grace had been right about as well. When he wrote these things down, it was as though they were being cemented in his mind. Like he would never forget them again, no matter how many times he was wiped.

Of course, that probably wasn't true and he _certainly_ wasn't going to try and test it out, but still, the strength it gave him was invaluable.

Flicking through the now-filled pages of the book, he suddenly felt invigorated to continue. But what to write about? …He hadn't "remembered" anything that wasn't already written down.

Thinking for several moments, a slow smile spread over his face as inspiration struck him.

Grace.

He would write about Grace and his time with her. The things she'd done for him, the way they liked to tease one another, the way her eyes lit up when she smiled. Everything.

Because if there was one thing he never wanted to forget…

It was her.

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Still using his towel to absorb the water from his wet hair, Bucky emerged from the bathroom and headed for the kitchen. He was in jeans today. Jeans and a grey hoodie. He'd found living in sweatpants and t-shirt to be entirely agreeable, but he also liked to cycle through the clothes that now stocked his wardrobe. Besides, he was planning on doing laundry today and all 3 pairs of his sweatpants were in desperate need of cleaning.

Padding barefoot down the hall, he noted Grace in the living room with her ear pressed to the phone. The first thought that crossed his mind was that it was her mother calling again. He'd been living with Grace for nearly two weeks now, and in that time her mother had certainly been the most frequent caller. So far, he'd counted 9 phone calls.

Grace had only answered 3 of them though.

Granted she hadn't been home for 2 of them, but the other 4 she had just blatantly ignored – often with a huff or an exaggerated eye roll.

Listening briefly to her conversation now, he quickly came to the conclusion that it was _not_ Victoria Richards on the other end of the line. He'd started to recognise the special tone Grace would adopt when talking to her mother on the phone – this wasn't it.

Dismissing the mystery caller, he continued on to the kitchen, putting two pieces of bread in the toaster before pushing down the button.

It was as he was spreading jam over said toast that he heard the phone return to its cradle, and the sound of heeled footsteps approaching.

Taking a bite out of one piece, he turned in her general direction. As was usual on weekday mornings, Grace was dressed for work. Today she wore a dark green blouse tucked into a white pencil skirt, with white heels to match. And as usual, her hair had been styled into a neat updo.

It was rare that he saw her with her hair down, he realised. Not that it mattered – she looked good either way.

She smiled as she approached him; he frowned. Something was up.

Despite the smile, he could see she was nervous – almost worried, even.

"Soooo" She drew out the world until it disappeared into the space between them.

Saying nothing, he merely took another bite out of his toast, waiting for her to continue.

After a few seconds of silence, she threw out an awkwardly, high-pitched "sleep well?"

"Well enough," he shrugged. So, it wasn't exactly the truth – but it wasn't exactly a lie either. He _would_ sleep well enough. Just... On the couch. Later. When she was gone.

"So…" she trailed off once more.

"You said that already." He countered, mouth still full of toast.

"Yeah, I know." She said before letting out a huge sigh and taking a seat at the kitchen table.

"Something wrong?" he asked, as he perched himself on the kitchen bench across from her.

"Um… well, I wouldn't say '_wrong'_ as such, but I don't think you're going to like it…"

"Why?" Instantly he was on high alert. Were they coming for him? Had she told someone he was staying with her?

...No, she wouldn't do that. But, if not that, then _what_? Was she kicking him out?

"Okay. So, we have this next door neighbour: Rachael."

"We?" he quirked an eyebrow.

"_I_… I mean, '_I_'. Well, no. It's sort of 'we', don't you think?"

"I don't know" he shrugged, suddenly feeling _very_ out of his depth. "Are we a '_we'_?

"I don't know" she sputtered slightly. "I haven't really thought about it. I mean, do you want to be a 'we'?"

He had no answer for that - it wasn't necessarily that he didn't _want_ to be a 'we', more just that he had no idea what that would entail.

"I don't know." He said again. "How about we just get back to the point? You were talking about Rachael…"

"Right. Rachael. Um… so, she lives next door in number 39, and she's _really_ nice! She also has a son. His name is Aaron, he's 10 months old, and you know, he's a baby – so he's great too…"

She was rambling. A lot. And he could not for life of him figure out why…

"Anyway," she continued. "Every now and then, Rachael has to work a night shift and so, every now and then, I kind of… take care of her baby." She finished all at once.

He said nothing for several seconds, still waiting for her to get to the point; however, after seeing the expectant look on her face it became apparent that she thought it was his turn to talk.

"I don't get it."

Sighing, she clarified – the nervousness on her face becoming more pronounced than ever. "Rachael has to work tonight. So, she asked me if I could babysit… I said 'yes'."

"I still don't get it. Is there a question in there somewhere?"

"Well, I guess the question would be: is it going to bother you if I babysit a 10 month-old child here tonight?"

"Why would it bother me?" A tone of genuine confusion entering his voice, "I mean, you're going to be here right? Cause it might break if you leave me with it by itself."

She laughed at that. "Why would _he_ break?" she emphasised the pronoun.

He shrugged again. "I wouldn't know the first thing to do with a baby. He could be crying in pain for hours and I'd just think he was hungry."

She shook her head slightly, suddenly seeming a lot calmer. "I doubt that. But no, you won't have to be alone with him. I'll be here the whole time. I just… I don't know. I wasn't sure how you'd feel about being stuck with a baby all night."

"I think if I can survive a POW camp, I can survive a baby." The words were out of his mouth before they had even registered in his mind.

Quickly, he glanced over at Grace, only to see her smile transform into a full-fledged grin.

"Memory or generalisation?" she asked, a tinge of hope in her voice.

"I don't know yet. I'll let you know." He replied, sending her a small smile as he did.

For a few moments, they stayed like that. Staring across at one another, smiling. To anyone looking in, they probably would have looked like idiots.

She was the one to move first.

"Okay. Well, it's settled then. I'll pick up some Aaron-supplies after work and then I'll see you this afternoon."

Getting up from the table, she gathered her things and made for the door.

"Have a good day" he called, as she opened the door.

He just caught the "you too!" as it swung closed behind her.


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: Hi all, **

**This one's a bit shorter than usual, but I didn't want to drag it out. **

**Also, forgive me for any errors – once again, I banged this one out in a hurry. I have an early start in the morning, but somehow couldn't resist getting this one down. **

**I hope it's okay. :)**

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"You know you can pick him up if you want to…"

Jumping slightly at the sound, he quickly turned to look at Grace in her new position behind the couch. She had been in the kitchen preparing dinner for the baby, and had somehow managed to return to the living room without his notice.

He didn't like to admit it, but it was clear that this baby was consuming him a lot more than he'd thought it would.

"No, that's okay. He seems pretty happy where he is."

She gave him a knowing glance, a teasing smile playing on her lips. "Fine then. If you won't, then I will."

He watched her as she walked to the baby – Aaron, his name was. Aaron. He watched as she stopped next to the play-crib that had become the centre of their living room. And he watched as she plucked the 10 month old from his spot on the floor and took him lovingly into her arms.

Grace was going to make a fantastic mother.

He had seen it from the instant she'd walked back through the door with an infant in her arms.

She wasn't the type to use baby-talk or to fuss over his every sound though. She wasn't… what was the word?

…Clucky.

No, she wasn't like that.

Instead, she just seemed to have this inherent skill at handling babies. Maybe it was something all women had – he wasn't sure.

But it was obvious.

It was there in the way she would talk to the baby, the way she seemed to know exactly what he needed… even in the way she swayed slightly as she carted him around on her hip.

All signs were pointing to one fact: she would make an _amazing_ mother.

"He looks good on you, you know." He said without thinking.

Looking up from the baby, she met his eyes; her wide smile suddenly becoming very shy.

"Thanks." She replied softly.

Silence descended for a few moments, neither of them really knowing what to say.

"You know, he'd look good on you too." She finally said.

"I doubt that" he practically snorted.

"Well, you won't know until you try…" and with that, she made a beeline towards him.

"Grace-" he started as she came to stand in front him.

"Stand up." She ignored him.

"Grace-" he tried again – though, it came out a lot whinier this time.

"Up!" she said sternly, shooting him a stern look that told him it _wasn't_ a request.

Sighing, he slowly rose from the couch; being sure to make it clear that he was _not_ happy about being bullied into the baby-handling business.

"So," she began once he was in a standing position. "It's easy, you just take him under the arms and prop him on your hip. You won't even know he's there."

He looked at her as she began removing the infant from her hip, and instantly took a step back.

"No" he said firmly, shaking his head at her.

"What? Come on, you're being ridiculous. He's not going to hurt you, you know" she replied, taking a step towards him.

He could see she was about to try and hand him the baby again, and he wouldn't have it. He _couldn't_.

Before he could stop himself, he suddenly blurted out exactly what he'd been thinking –

"I'm not the one you need to worry about!"

Instantly, he winced. His words had come out much louder and much harsher than he had meant them to; and he could see the confusion and hurt in Grace's eyes as she recoiled from him.

It may have only been a few inches, but it felt like miles. Which made everything worse.

He needed to fix this.

"Hey, no." he said gently, closing the gap between them until he was right in front of her. "Grace, I didn't… I'm sorry."

"I don't understand"

Her voice was soft as she spoke – timid, even. It was very un-Grace. He hated it. But even more, he hated that _he_ was the cause.

Taking a deep breath, he steeled himself for what was to come. He had never lied to Grace; when he couldn't tell her the truth, he told her nothing. But _this_, this would be the most honest thing he'd ever said to her. The most vulnerable she had ever seen him.

In short, he was terrified.

"I'm afraid." He said simply, his eyes fixed on the ground – too nervous to look anywhere else. "For the past 70 years, all I've ever done is hurt things. _People_. I hurt people. And… I just, I couldn't handle it if I hurt him."

Hesitantly, he looked up to meet her eyes and was met only with understanding. No trace of pity or sympathy to be found anywhere – two of the things he had been dreading the most.

Gently, she shook her head at him. "But you won't hurt him. Do you think I would have agreed to babysit him here if I thought for a second he'd be in danger?"

He opened his mouth to say something in response. Only, he had nothing.

Not waiting for him to answer her, she continued.

"Look, I know you've only been living here for, what? 2 weeks. Or almost 2 weeks. But, I _know_ you, James. Maybe I don't know everything that you've done, or everything that you're capable of. But I know what counts. I _know_ that you would never hurt me, and I _know_ that you're not going to hurt this baby – no matter how much he scares you. Okay?

I trust you. Now, you just need to trust me," she finished.

"I do trust you."

"Then hold out your hands…" she said gently, her tone indicating that he didn't have to if he didn't want to.

This was his choice to make.

Looking into her eyes, he saw the trust she had spoken of. It ran deep and was completely unassuming. One could almost call it 'blind'. He didn't deserve such trust, and yet she gave it to him without question.

Suddenly, his mind was made up and he held out his hands the way that she had showed him before and took the baby into his arms.

He looked down at the infant on his hip as the little boy cooed softly to himself from his new position.

"Look at that," Grace said, the teasing tone back in her voice. "3 whole seconds and he didn't explode…"

"Yeah, yeah" he shot back.

Once again, he found himself becoming consumed by the small creature. He couldn't remember how his former self – or rather, how Bucky – had felt about babies. But he, James, was very quickly coming to like them.

Here in this one little human being was complete acceptance. There was no fear, no judgement. Just contentment. He knew nothing of loss, or grief, or guilt. He was pure innocence.

Smiling softly at the baby, he couldn't help the sway that entered his stance. He had no idea what started it – perhaps, he was just subconsciously mirroring what he'd seen Grace do. Either way, it felt right.

"Turns out I was right…" he looked back up to see Grace smiling across at him.

"What?"

"He _does_ look good on you."


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: Hi all, **

**So. This is really awkward. Mostly for me though, I guess. **

**I don't really know how many FanFic writers have picked a story back up after almost 2 years (really hoping I'm not the only one), but here I am. Picking this one back up. **

**Obviously LOTS of things have happened since I last posted. I won't bore you with the details, but for me, it was a lot of personal stuff and some very, ****_very_**** tough times. But, I'm happy to say that life is a lot better now and I'm finally able to get back to the things that I enjoy doing – one of which is writing. **

**More importantly though, shitloads of stuff happened in the MCU and unfortunately that now means that this story is more of an AU set after CA: TWS. **

**Nonetheless, I hope that there are still some of you out there that are interested in this story and aren't bothered by an AU timeline cause I had a big plan for this fic, and I'm not ready to let it go. **

**So, anyway, on to the story, and as always, I hope you guys like it. :)**

**X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X**

Taking a small break from her computer, Grace rubbed her tired eyes and glanced over to the couch only to let out a small smile at the sight before her.

Sometime in the last 20 minutes he had dozed off. _Finally_, she thought; cause, as much as he was desperately trying to hide it from her, she knew that he wasn't getting anywhere near the amount of sleep he should be. Then again, it wasn't as though she could really blame him – it wasn't like he had an abundance of sweet dreams waiting for him in the land of nod…

Still, it made her happy to see him getting some rest, even if it would be short lived.

Stealing one last look at his slumped position on the couch, she shook her head slightly in disbelief. How had it come to this? How had she taken in a complete stranger without a second thought? How had he managed to slot himself into her life so neatly in less than three weeks? How did he manage to make her little apartment feel more like home?

But more important to Grace than those burning "how" questions, were her burning "why" questions.

Why had she been so compelled to help him? Why did the thought of him leaving and never coming back utterly terrify her? And _why_ did her heart rate elevate the way it did on the rare occasion that he let out a genuine laugh or smile?

Deep down, she suspected that she already knew the answers to these questions, but she also knew that she was nowhere near ready to start admitting them to herself. There was also a part of her that feared she would _never_ be ready for questions like that – and not just from him either, but for anybody that could make her feel the way he did. After all, she'd been burned before…

Blanching slightly at the dark memory that had surfaced, she shook her head once more and quickly returned to her open laptop.

These late nights were killing her and there was nothing she wanted more at that very moment than to give in to herself and just crawl into bed. Glancing away from the screen once more, she checked her watch.

_2:41am_.

Letting out a huge sigh, she inwardly chastised herself. Where had the past 3 hours gone? Had she even _actually_ achieved anything tonight or had she just been wasting her time?! With her frustration growing, Grace glanced at her watch for a second time and made a snap decision.

15 minutes. She would take a break for 15 minutes, do some more work, and be in bed no later than 3:30am.

And with that, she pushed her laptop away to make space for her arms and promptly laid down her head, deciding to try and make the most of the next 15 minutes.

**X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X**

It was the sensation of his slow descent further down into the cushions of the couch that woke him.

Looking around slightly, groggily blinking the sleep from his eyes, he took in his surroundings. Living room, television still on the same channel with the volume down low, the lower half of his body sagging towards the floor in the areas that it hung from the couch, while the upper half had been doing its best impression of melting into the plush material of the cushions.

He noted, with some amusement, that the remote control was located several inches away from him on the floor – this was obviously where it had landed when it had eventually slipped from his hand while he was napping.

Sitting up, he looked towards the clock, pleased to see that he had managed to sleep for almost 2 hours without any issues. No nightmares, no bad memories pushing their way through from his subconscious, not even any whispers of people calling his name.

All in all, he considered this a win and couldn't help the flutter of contentment that flooded him. He didn't like to get his hopes up, but he couldn't deny the facts: each day he was in the apartment, each day he was around Grace, he improved. Were they small improvements? Absolutely. But for him, every little bit counted. Every little piece of himself that he could reclaim was precious to him, and, as far as he was concerned, there was no piece too small.

Feeling the tightness in his muscles from his impromptu nap, he rose from the couch and began stretching out his limbs, or rather, his flesh limbs as it were.

It was at that point that he looked over to the kitchen table only to find Grace had fallen asleep herself. Looking at the clock again he noted, with some concern, the late (or in this case, early) hour. Every night this week she'd stayed up, pushing herself more and more, going to bed later and later.

He knew from talking to Grace that her job was something she loved and how important it was to her, but he couldn't help but disapprove of something that was hurting her. Her act may have been close to flawless, but he had still noticed the toll this past week had taken on her.

Dark circles lined her eyes, she was stifling yawns every 5 minutes, and hadn't gone a day without complaining of a headache; and now, here she was, asleep on her kitchen table, her laptop still open in front of her.

Doing some quick math in his head, he took in what he already knew about Grace's work schedule: the fact that she started work at 9, always left the apartment by 8:30, and generally got up a few minutes either side of 7 o'clock; meaning, that if he put her to bed now, she'd be able to claim almost 3 hours worth of quality sleep before she started her day.

As he went through all this in his head, he moved towards the table. In truth, he had made up his mind about what he was going to do the moment he saw her - the math was more of a courtesy than anything.

Coming to stand next to her, he paused for a moment to take in the sight before him, becoming more certain than ever that moving her was the right thing to do. There was nothing about what he saw before him right now that said "comfort" or "peaceful".

Standing this close he could see the slight frown she wore on her face as she slept, and could hear the quiet groans she would make every time she moved slightly in place. His heart went out to her instantly, and his resolve was strengthened.

With as much caution as he would muster, he bent down towards her, reaching out to her as he did. Gently, and without hesitation, he lifted her head from her arms and rested it on his shoulder before reaching down to pick her up from her chair, one arm under her knees, her other snaked behind her back.

She stirred slightly at the change in position, but he continued his mission, deftly lifting her into his arms and made a beeline towards her bedroom.

It was as they passed the living room that he heard her utter a soft "no… I have work…".

"Shhh, you need sleep." He replied gently, never wavering in his task.

She offered no reply, but he was keenly aware of the way she _ever so slightly_ nuzzled herself into his chest as they continued their path to her room. He was also keenly aware of the way his heart gave a small flutter at the added contact.

The light from the hall offered sufficient illumination as he delivered her to her bed.

By some miracle the sheets were already turned down, meaning he was saved the trouble of attempting to balance her in one hand whilst pulling away the sheets with the other. He'd have to be more proactive next time and make sure her bed was ready _before_ he picked her up…

For a brief second, he checked himself. _Next time_?

He quickly dismissed the thought, deciding instead to focus on successfully putting Grace to bed.

With as much care as he had used to pick her up, he gently lowered her down before pulling her blankets up around her. He noted her small, contented sigh as she snuggled deeper into the sheets and couldn't help the small smile that crossed his face.

Before turning to make his way out of her room he paused to take her in once more.

Her long, brown hair was still half secured in the messy bun she'd made when she'd sat down at her computer hours ago, her expression was now contented with all frown lines giving way to peaceful sleep.

It was without conscious thought that he extended his right hand and gently pushed some loose strands of hair from her face, incidentally brushing his fingers across the smooth skin of her cheek.

_God, she's beautiful. _

Without warning, another small sigh escaped her lips and instantly he was snapped back to reality, quickly snatching back his hand. The last thing he would want would be for her to wake up and find him staring at her, let alone touching her face.

So, before he could be tempted again, he turned and made his way towards the door; stealing one last look at her small, sleeping form before gently closing the door behind him.

**X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X**

**A/N: I'm hoping to do one more chapter of character foundation – if for nothing else than to fully reacquaint myself with the characters, and then I'll be introducing some genuine plot points to actually move the plot along. **


	15. Chapter 15

She looked like crap.

There was no denying it, and what was worse was that there was nothing she could do about it either. With every passing minute she became later and later for work, meaning that she was just going to have to accept her shabby appearance and try and get through the day.

To say she was pissed off this morning would be an understatement. Even though she knew with every _ounce_ of her being that James cared about her, and that when he had put her to bed last night (or this morning, as it were) he was just looking out for her; but it just so happened, that at that exact moment, she really just wished that he had left her alone.

The quality of sleep achieved on a table top might be incredibly poor when compared to that of a nice, comfy bed but at least you can't oversleep on a table top. No, you know where you oversleep? In your warm, soft bed. And so, without having set an alarm for herself, here she was about to head into the office to get yelled at by her boss, and to top it all off, she would have to do it looking like trash**. **

Before she could dwell on her predicament any longer, she promptly left the bathroom and hastily began gathering her things so she could leave as soon as possible.

She didn't miss the cheerful "morning" that he sent her way as she traipsed down the hall, she also didn't miss the small smile he gave her. She did, however, ignore both and avoid any and all eye contact with him.

She knew she was being childish. And what's more, she knew that the problem lay with her and not him; but once again, she couldn't bring herself to care at that particular moment.

In her peripheral vision she saw his face fall slightly at having been ignored, causing her resolve to act like a total bitch to waver slightly. But not enough to backtrack.

"Is everything okay?" he asked, a tone of concern in his voice.

She turned to face him, her bag in her hand, finally having gathered everything she needed. "You know, not really" she replied harshly.

"Look," she continued, "I know that you meant well, but next time could you maybe _not_ put me to bed like some 5 year old kid who fell asleep on the couch?"

She watched as his expression transformed from concerned to one of extreme hurt. God, she hated herself right now. And yet, she couldn't stop the words as they spilled from her poisonous mouth.

"I've got enough going on at work right now, and the last thing I needed today was to get yelled at by my boss. Not the mention the fact that I look like a goddamn train wreck!"

The only other time she'd seen so much pain on his face was the time he had told her about being wiped. She felt terrible. No. She felt sick. Could that happen? Could you regret something so much that it made you feel physically sick?

"I'm sorry" he said, his voice soft and confused. "I was only trying to help. I…"

"Yeah, I get that" she cut him off. "And you know, thanks. But also, no thanks."

And with that she stormed towards the door, feeling utterly sick to her stomach. She couldn't look at him anymore, couldn't even stand to be in the same room as him. Not because of anything he'd done, but because of what she had just done.

She had ruined everything. He knew the truth of her now. She wasn't this kind and generous Samaritan he'd spent the last 3 weeks claiming she was. She was spiteful and childish and prone to hurting the people around her.

Before he could say anything else she opened the door and slammed it after her, needing to put as much distance between the two of them as possible.

It was as soon as the door closed behind her however, that she froze.

_Oh god_.

She couldn't be 100% certain – it had only been for a split second; and yet, as she replayed the last 2 seconds in her mind she became almost completely convinced of what she had just spotted as she'd left the apartment: a paper bag and her travel mug.

Did he make breakfast for her _to go_?

_Oh god_! She thought. He did. He had made her breakfast and she had just ripped his heart out of his chest, still beating.

A lump formed in her throat and beginnings of watery tears stung at the corners of her eyes. She may have already been 20-something minutes late for work, but she suddenly decided that she didn't care. She had something more important to do.

Determined, she stormed back in to her apartment to find him standing exactly as he had been when she had slammed the door on him no more than 5 seconds ago, still somewhat in shock it would seem.

Without hesitation or explanation she marched right over to him, shedding her bag from her arms as she did, and threw her arms around him, desperately hugging him to her.

His body stiffened instantly at the contact and it was several seconds before she felt him relax and return the hug, albeit somewhat hesitantly. But then, after what she had just done, that was completely understandable.

"I'm so, _so_ sorry." Her words were earnest, but managed to come out slightly muffled considering she had her face buried in the soft material of his shirt. Still clutching at him, she continued "It's not you. It's me. It's completely and utterly me. I didn't mean it. Please don't leave."

The words came out before she could even truly process them, and instantly her stomach dropped and she pulled away enough that she could look up into his face. She didn't let go though. She wasn't sure that she could.

"Oh god! Please promise me you're not going to leave! _Please_!" She heard the panic in her voice as she looked up at him.

Taking him in, Grace saw mostly confusion but she also noted that there were still traces of pain there. Pain that _she_ had caused.

More guilt washed over her at this realisation and suddenly his steady gaze became too much; still not being able to release her hold on him, she buried her face in his chest once more, unable to stop the small sobs that began squeezing their way out from her lungs.

It was several more seconds before she felt his hand begin to make small, comforting circles on her back. The contact was entirely comforting and far more than she deserved, but still she couldn't shake the fear that she had just effectively chased him away forever.

"Hey" he coaxed gently, "hey, look at me", his tone sure and soothing.

Reluctantly she did as he asked and once again tilted her head back so she could look into his eyes.

"Look, I don't know how to tell you this," he started, sounding very serious – something she found terrifying. This was it. He was about to tell her that he was leaving, that he couldn't stay with her anymore. It was all she could do not to collapse to the floor and burst into tears, but instead she kept her eyes locked on his just as he'd asked. At the very least, she owed him that much

"…But I actually thought you looked really nice today." He finished, a rather smug smirk beginning to show on his face, the pained look replaced with one of kindness and humour

It was a moment before she could truly process the change in mood, however, as soon as it dawned on her a strangled laugh-sob wracked her body and she collapsed into him once more.

They remained like that for several minutes: her, clinging to his large, solid form, head still buried in his chest, emitting a ugly-sounding laugh/cry that she was apparently powerless to stop; him, gently holding her, rubbing small circles on her back, patiently waiting for her to get a hold of herself.

When she had finally quieted, he stated simply, "I made you breakfast. And coffee" Anyone else would have taken some kind of "I told you so" tone of voice, but not him. He spoke the words purely as fact – not a single hint of annoyance or hurt, something for which she was incredibly grateful.

"I know" she mumbled into his shirt. "That's what makes it even worse!"

He chuckled slightly at that and she felt the laughter as it rumbled through his chest. His laugh was something that she'd liked since the very first time she'd heard it, but now she was coming to realise that she liked it even more from her current vantage point. A fact that both delighted and scared her.

"I guess I should go to work, huh?" she asked into his t-shirt.

He didn't answer, but he also didn't need to. Letting out a large sigh, she dropped her arms and stepped out of his embrace, sending him a sheepish smile as she did.

Picking her handbag up from where she had practically thrown it to the floor, she made her way to the kitchen table to pick up the bag and the mug - still completely touched that he had thought to make them for her.

She decided that it was probably best for her to go before she started to cry again and turned towards the door. She had barely moved two steps before he reached out and stopped her.

She didn't know what she expected but it most certainly was _not_ for him to reach up and tenderly wipe the fallen tears from her cheeks.

His fingers felt warm and strong, yet his touch was achingly gentle. The gesture caused her breath to catch in her throat and her heart to jump slightly; she could practically see the blush of her cheeks reflecting in the metallic surface of his left didn't seem to notice though. Either that, or he didn't care. He merely caught her chin between his finger and thumb and tipped her face up towards his, smiling down at her softly as he did.

"I'll see you this afternoon" he offered, his voice as warm as his touch.

"You promise?" she teased, returning his smile.

At that he rolled his eyes and gave her his signature smirk, "promise."


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: Hi all, **

**Sorry for the delay - I have been without internet access for over a week now. -_-**

**X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X**

"If you don't hurry up I'm going to start the movie without you!" she called to him from her place on the couch, mindlessly flicking through the television channels as she waited.

It was Saturday, and despite the amount of work she still had to do to get her event back on track, she was opting instead to take a well-earned day off; because, let's be honest, what else says "girl, you should take a break" more than having a morning meltdown?

So, whilst she might regret her decision for the rest of the week, she was sticking to her guns. She had set one rule for herself for the day: No work. And so far, it was working out great.

She had slept in, made pancakes for herself and James, gotten in a good work out in at the gym, had a ridiculously long shower, and even painted her nails. It may have only been midday, but already she was more relaxed than she had been in weeks.

It had been during lunch that she had suggested to him that perhaps they should strike off another movie from his must-watch list – a list that was ever growing. So far, she had gotten him through all the classic 80s action films, a genre incredibly close to her heart; and now, she was moving him forward into the sci-fi masterpieces that he had missed out on.

Today was Star Wars Day. And she had lined up episode IV ready to go.

Already he had queried her as to why they were starting with number 4 instead of number 1, which she supposed was, indeed, a very fair point. But she was a sucker for the originals, and in truth, it was more authentic this way anyway.

Checking the time once more she rolled her eyes and called out in the direction of the bathroom once more. "What are you doing in there? Did you drown?!"

He had been in there for almost 20 minutes now. To be fair, 20 minutes paled in comparison to the amount of time that she had spent in the bathroom today, but considering she was dealing with someone who was usually in and out in 10 minutes or less, she felt her impatience was somewhat warranted.

It was about two minutes later when she finally heard the door open and footsteps make their down the hall.

Taking in the sight of him as he came to sit on the couch next to her she couldn't help but laugh. Here he was, this hulking man with a metal arm, sweat pants riding low on his waist, a well-fitted t-shirt outlining the broadness of his chest, all topped off with a towel turban wrapped around his head.

Looking over at her as he sat, he gave her a puzzled look.

"What?" he asked, the shadow of a smirk showing on his face.

"I see you washed your hair then?" she teased, gesturing to his headgear.

"What do you mean?" he replied, his hand reaching up to check the turban. "I've seen you do it. Is this not what people do?"

She giggled again somewhat, "Well, generally, it's something that females tend to do – pretty exclusively, actually. But, then again, the majority of males don't have hair as long as yours…"

"So what you're saying is this is a no?" he pointed to the towel perched on his head.

She shrugged, "I don't know. If it ain't broke, don't fix it. …Besides, I think it actually looks quite fetching on you."

Without a word he pulled the towel from his head and quickly threw it her direction – his justice for her teasing. They both laughed and she promptly thrust the wet towel back at him.

As they both quieted a thought occurred to her.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Sure," he shrugged.

"What's with the long hair?"

She winced instantly at her poorly chosen words, and quickly rushed to continue before he got the wrong idea.

"I mean, it's not like it's bad or anything, it's just that the majority of soldiers are made to have really short hair. And it's not just them either – my dad was getting haircuts like every 6 weeks because that was what the Captain of his Precinct expected. So, umm, I guess the question is do you know why they let you grow out your hair?" she finished carefully.

As she finished speaking he looked away from her, seemingly thinking about her question quite intently. As she waited for him to emerge from his thoughts she was pleased to note the absence of hurt and insult from his face. She was still feeling incredibly guilty about her outburst the other day and was now incredibly paranoid about hurting his feelings again, thankfully he was someone who seemed to have very thick skin to match that metal arm of his.

"I think…" he started, still sounding somewhat lost in thought. "It's hard to say _exactly_. I get snippets of things all the time now, I just never know if they're memories or dreams. So, I could be wrong but I think it was because I resisted."

"Resisted?" she questioned, turning in place on the couch so she could face him fully.

"I don't know, it's all really fuzzy but I think that, at first, the wipes weren't working. It's hard to say. Basically, in order for the experiment to work – for me to _become_ the winter soldier, they had to take away all the parts that made me Bucky. And my appearance was a big part of that." He turned to face her as well before continuing, his face suddenly alive with memories.

"Oh god, Grace – you should've seen me" he laughed softly to himself, a sad smile playing on his lips. "I was this cocky, vain, trouble-making kid, strutting around Brooklyn like I owned the place. And then I joined the Army, so of course it just got ten times worse! You should've seen me in my uniform – oh god, and the way I used to wear my hat. Jesus! I actually wore my cap on angle on my head, just so it wouldn't mess up my hair! Who does that?!" he laughed again, with true joy with this time.

As she watched him, Grace's breath hitched in her throat. He was like a different man. His eyes were so bright, his smile seemingly plastered to his face, his voice was lighter, _hell_, he even sat up straighter!

Staring at him now, he was a man transformed. This wasn't James – or at least, not as she had come to know him. Was this Bucky? Is this what Bucky Barnes had been like?! She was desperate to know as she found herself becoming more and more hypnotized by this new man before her.

And just like that, as quickly as he had lit up, he snapped back to reality.

"Anyway," he continued, transforming back into "James" once more. "I think that they were trying to create this super soldier to do their bidding, but every time I looked in the mirror I saw myself, Bucky, and not Number 17; so they grew out my hair. Problem solved, I guess." He finished with a shrug, as though recounting his time as an imprisoned superhuman was what people chatted about every Saturday.

Grace was silent for a moment, still somewhat breathless from what she had just seen.

"Well," she started, some slight hesitation in her voice. "I could cut it for you. …if you want, that is. I mean, it's totally up to you!" she stammered. "I just, you know, there's no real reason for the long hair now. You know, now that your… But like I said, it's up to you. If you like it, then you should keep it. I'm sure it looks good either way…"

He smirked at her, clearly he found her rambling entertaining. She didn't mind though, seeing his signature smirk was always worth it.

"You're gonna cut my hair?" His smirk still firmly in place.

"I mean, if you want me to…"

He seemed to contemplate this for a moment before answering. "I guess it couldn't do any harm. …Besides, it's not like anyone's going to see me if you screw it up" he teased.

"Hey!" she retorted, giving his arm a playful smack – a blow which he merely laughed off.

"Alright, that settles it then" she continued once he had stopped chuckling at her feeble slapping abilities, little did he know she could actually pack a punch if she wanted to.

"We'll do movie first, then haircut. Deal?"

"Sounds good to me," he shrugged again as he settled down into the couch for the movie.

Excited for both the sci-fi and the impending haircut, Grace hastily found the remote and hit play – the iconic theme music instantly blasting through the living room.

"So, tell me again why we're starting with number four?"


End file.
